Magic on the Moor

There aren't enough hours in the day.

I'm a fool to myself staying up late and always regretting it in the morning.

Tailgaters piss me off.

They really do.

The car park ticket machine doesn't accept new style 10p's or 5p's. That's bloody annoying.

Football used to be guts and glory and now it's bling and whinge. I want my country to win the world cup but I don't want that image of any of that lot of prima donna's holding it aloft to replace that of Bobby Moore.

I haven't been to enough festivals and now I think I may be too old.

I'm not spending nearly enough as much time as I'd like camping in the mountains.

Maybe I'll never see the Iguaza Falls for myself. Or New Zealand.

I used to sing in the car. Little Red Corvette (the song... not my car), Runaway Train, She Sells Sanctuary, Wages Day, The Boxer, Like a Rolling Stone. I used to sing so loud in my little cocoon. Now I turn it down in case it disturbs anyone.

But...

This is now my Rock and Roll.

And this.

Whatever happens - I can get lost here :o)