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A word of explanation for the above poem. *smiles* Now I've knocked the Dissertation on the head for the night.
Me, Mum and my big brother used to go off in the car at night, sometimes. Alien hunting, or ghost watching. Or just looking for places that look good in the night time...like Winter Hill, or Rivington Pike, or the narrow winding lanes round Barrow Bridge. Dad was a night worker, and over the years was becoming a little reclusive, so a lot of the time, it was me, Mum and Martin against the world. We'd do mad shit together, doing things late at night, when we should have been sleeping. *grins*. Probably partly inspired by having an insomniac child in the mix. Mum and Martin were like co-conspirators. I was the baby.
We had some fun. The two hound dogs by the way were little white westies. And the car was the most battered looking mini clubman estate...I swear it had gardens of moss growing in the window trims. Window gardens.
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