the Answer to a Journalist
the Answer to a Journalist
The answer to a Journalist
I was sitting in that quiet corner of the pub by the shade of the old peppercorn tree where crows often perch, to tired to make their mournful cry and in the shade there stood an air condition four wheel drive the modern wonder and pride of a Pitts street Journalist.
The driver entered and looked around then walked on over to me another beer old timer he said to help pass the time away, I grunted and passed me glass, but only if you’re shouting I said.
Smiling he replied, don’t worry old timer it won’t cost you anything, well, maybe just a word or too that I can write about back home.
Well sat sipping our beers, yarning and I was doing all the talking very quietly as I always does, when he says.
Well old-timer, I bet you could tell a tale or too And I reckon your story she’d be worth a Quid or to you, if wrote about of your life outback.
I looked and grinned, my eyes they sparkled bright for I knew he’d ask that question, about my colored past. Now I grinned and laughed out loud, no way you see, I said cause if I told you all about my life. I’d have to give you back some change for your Quid
bill w
I was sitting in that quiet corner of the pub by the shade of the old peppercorn tree where crows often perch, to tired to make their mournful cry and in the shade there stood an air condition four wheel drive the modern wonder and pride of a Pitts street Journalist.
The driver entered and looked around then walked on over to me another beer old timer he said to help pass the time away, I grunted and passed me glass, but only if you’re shouting I said.
Smiling he replied, don’t worry old timer it won’t cost you anything, well, maybe just a word or too that I can write about back home.
Well sat sipping our beers, yarning and I was doing all the talking very quietly as I always does, when he says.
Well old-timer, I bet you could tell a tale or too And I reckon your story she’d be worth a Quid or to you, if wrote about of your life outback.
I looked and grinned, my eyes they sparkled bright for I knew he’d ask that question, about my colored past. Now I grinned and laughed out loud, no way you see, I said cause if I told you all about my life. I’d have to give you back some change for your Quid
bill w
Re: the Answer to a Journalist
What
looks like you are all interested in Bob
who's barking like a dog dog 






Re: the Answer to a Journalist
yup
an I know the answer to the questions I ask.

Re: the Answer to a Journalist
I got one
and the little sod bit the tip of my finger by accident 


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Re: the Answer to a Journalist
An accident you say ???



Neville
" Prose is description, poetry is presence " Les Murray.
" Prose is description, poetry is presence " Les Murray.
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Re: the Answer to a Journalist
Paw dog, Bill 

Re: the Answer to a Journalist
Nah
I shoulda called him Colgate,
but because of the slowness of my feet
he did not get the ring of confidence 




