mmm
plenty I would rather not think about.
after cyclone tracy a workmates inhereted a heap of homeless,
but very fit greyhounds.
the wife was exercising them along the local airstrip,
with her motor-car and holding all four dogs at a fairly fast clip,
in the motor-car was her two kids, and infant now sound asleep;
a panorama before me as I skated over the last ridgeline before base.
well, apparantly the kids all had nightmares for months,
the dogs half of which were never seen again, nearly,
but very nearly tore her arm orf, she had stress disorder forever,
stupid, damm stupid, maybe as bad as a mate of mine.
he was skating along the highway, at zot minus;
up a slope round a bend and over the crest he flew,
holy mother what the, a white car careering bush,
oh dear, the travelling nursing sisters on the rounds,
now with a flat tyre and very stern countenance; he had bolted.
every one down the road, at the next visitation site was waiting
for smoko and an ogling or something more. in they stormed;
violence upon the pilot was their mission,
lo and behold about fifteen minutes later in he sauntered;
silence, absolute silence, afore the penny dropped with a clang
and away he went without scones or tea or a buttering up
that he had expected in his exalted position.
silly very silly, one, a silly beat up,
two, girls, especially happy ones were always in short supply.