Here’s an artwork of mine.

Click the pic to play.

What do you think of my artistry?

“This is the end…..”

Shove off, Morrison. I’ve been to your grave and you haven’t been to mine.

Tomorrow the Charley Rose gets sold. It’s not my boat. So what do I care? Nothing at all - I’m not bothered one bit, me.

Thank you, Charley. You made me who I am and several other people too.

Feeling ill - not good.
Feeling ill all the time - super not good.

The boat is just about sold but Trouty still hasn’t had the money.
If Barry ever coughs up then I will take him to Godalming and back and show him how to do it. Everything that I know is there for the taking; I suppose I just don’t want to let go.

And I can show him things. I will do my best to show him everything I know. Everything that I have learnt.

It hasn’t taken me long; just four years or so, but how I have grown. As I aged, so did my boatmanly wisdom.

I am a boatman now. That can never be taken away from me. I am one of the best boatmen on the cut.

Cut.

Cut down in my prime.

I rage against the illness that has brought me down. I rage against it but to no avail. So with my lifejacket on (Oh, the shame) I’ll take him there and back again to show him that it CAN be done.

Goodbye water and goodbye boat. The seasons turn and so do the boats. Changing and changeless, like canal water.

Me? Under the hunt. Not under the water but with a head full of knowledge that spills and gets tipped over the hapless cruisers.

This is the end of an era. No boat. But forever a boatman.

Guess what. I’ve been banned out of Digital Spy. 48 hours for DISRESPECT. You dissin’ me?

There is too much weirdness going on. I have VIVID dreams (like I’m going to write Sgt Pepper) and then the other day I had a waking dream. Trouty didn’t know what was going on as I opened the boat up and tried to find my phone. ‘SEE! - The illuminated biscuits!’, I insisted.