Back in the colonies. 
I txt’d Bill. Bill the bleedin cat. He never contacts me, always says his mobile has run out of dosh. I ask him, “Have you got time for a couple of shots for your Mum?”
I txt’d Bill. Bill the bleedin cat. He never contacts me, always says his mobile has run out of dosh. I ask him, “Have you got time for a couple of shots for your Mum?”
“Busy.”
“Your poor Mum. She loves you, feeds you, makes a space on the bed for you.”
“Okay, okay make it quick, between 2 and 3pm.”
I arrive, he stretched out sleeping in our early summer sun. I tell him to tart himself up a bit this is a photo for Mum (image 1). He decides on
a pose (image 2).
a pose (image 2).“Gawd how much longer this goin on for dodes?” (image 3).
I have discarded all the shots with that ridiculous handle bar moustache. Besides he kept getting it wedged in the cat door.
He sends his love to his Mum and says he’s run outa pocket money. And the Old Sheila from Thames and the young ‘un doin all that larnin give him a feed and a cuddle and a
space on the bed from time to time.
And when are you getting home again Mum?
Yours and Bill’s faithful servant dodes
I have discarded all the shots with that ridiculous handle bar moustache. Besides he kept getting it wedged in the cat door.
He sends his love to his Mum and says he’s run outa pocket money. And the Old Sheila from Thames and the young ‘un doin all that larnin give him a feed and a cuddle and a
space on the bed from time to time.And when are you getting home again Mum?
Yours and Bill’s faithful servant dodes
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