As usual for this day of the week I got up in a crepuscular dawn; June emerged like a flock of seagulls in my wake. I caught the big red double decker mouth moments before it spoke, getting coughed out and then swallowed again on the silent side of the hill. With the defiance of music in my mind I noticed a tablature of rooks on a roof top but sadly couldn’t spot the lutenist. As the aged and arthritic giantess climbed the hill I saw the spot where a procession of medieval mourners had stopped, having missed their connection to the church. I got mine and met the old man dressed as a royal barge - we sailed down the Thames, talking of motorways in prehistory and the archeological significance of ancient traffic jams.
Crazy Pasta Child 