To me, there’s only one Lord Byron. Except for that other arsehole named Byron, but I call him Brian.
Every night about this time, Chez Portingale is invaded by unsolicited phone calls. No matter, I’ve hatched a plot that will see me win…eventually.
There’s much talk of weapons in Trump’s America. But don’t blame him, as gun has always trumped knife.
Best not to pack away the tree or seasonal feelings of angst, because, like it or not, Christmas is just around the corner.
In the quiet carriage, no one can hear you scream. But all is well…save for the klaxon of discrimination blasting elsewhere: #BusPeopleNeedQuietToo