Thursday 8th November, 2001 Stock and forty degree anarchy Here I am at Cumberland wrestling with a futile hope that the clouds thick and full of promise might crack open and sweep out the rain. Then me – killing time with blue funny face icy poles to remedy the forty-three degree hell for a few … Continue reading Musings from Barcaldine
Inclement weather. A minor inconvenience for democracy.
Concrete coloured skies send me on a hunt for tea to drink in the dying day.