While checking in I see a new face on my followers list. Well when I say new face, it's actually a disconcerting blue eye, surrounded by blue skin. I have no idea who this Smurf look-alike is but if the other eye is as pretty as the first there could well be a beautiful woman keeping tabs on my occasional ramblings. As beautiful people of the female persuasion don't normally take an interest in what goes on in my head - you only have to ask the four ex wives and the ex girlfriend ( mother of my little muppet ) I don't hold out any hope of being turned from a frog into a Prince on a white horse. Actually I'd prefer a Palomino but I'd spray paint a donkey if I thought it would work.
Still, this could possibly lead to me having to iron my jeans and a clean t-shirt and slap some polish on my sandals. Damn it, I may have to tune my guitar and write a love song to a stranger. Not so bad though. At least I'll look clean and tidy while I sing ( most probably ) to myself.
And the elaborate miraculous cullinary creation will most likely end up with half of it in the freezer as the guest didn't turn up and thereby won't realise what she's missed. Mind you, as I'm purely a busker and rather experimental ( or is that just mental ) in the kitchen it could simply be another disaster averted.
Now I fear I shall always wonder if the feet start directly under the georgeous blue eye or would there be a magnificent specimen of the female form twixt eye and toes.
What ever. Welcome L. Carol to the world of my moronic mumbles where sometimes by a freak of nature I may write something sensible. Don't hold your breath on that one though. Sense and me don't always bat for the same side but I have high hopes of a gold medal or two in the severely retarded Olympics.