Season of mist and poliitical fruitfulness

Season of mist and poliitical fruitfulness...I sense Autumn in the air. The mellow mists float above and around Penrhos. And as we stand at the bus stop the Sun gradually burns away the mist. My thoughts drift to the unmade world beyond our holiday. The season of political conferences beckon and the world awaits in all its possibilities and permutations. This is lovely Autumnal day it's the first day I have worn my battered jacket. I chat to Morlais at the bus stop. Morlais is a retired miner. Twice a week he travels to Mumbles to buy bread. We often chat and he often tells me of how Ystradgynlais has changed in his eighty years.

The bus arrives and we climb on. My thoughts shift to Madeira and the unmade world beyond it fades. But rest assured my fine Bluekippers, Alt Righters and narcissistic "libertarians" i am coming for you on my return. And I can't leave out the right of the Labour Party... and the masturbators of the nascent centre party . Be warned.. i resolve as well to go to Phil Knights Neath Writers group too...