I hate snow.
Well, not hate, that is a very strong and emotive word so I will change it to satisfy the proprieties of the decent folk on this planet of ours; I fucking hate snow.
Got woken up this morning at about half-past four, and for the non-country livers, that's before the sparrows get out of bed. So, awake at half four and of course Madame fucking Tussaud lying next to me pretended to wake up too. If the truth is told she woke me in the first place!
"Do you want a cuppa? love. I'm going to have one," says she getting up and looking very sexy in her onesie. Yeah, sexy to a fucking blind Eskimo. I'm not allowed to say Eskimo anymore, am I? Fuck it, I can't spell innuit.
So off she goes downstairs and I look out of the window. The park over the road is all white, so is the street outside and my car.
"Fucking snow," says I to me. "Best place for it is on poxy Christmas cards," and got back into bed.
I hate snow.
Arrested for murder on March 9th 1986 and found guilty in January 1987, Frank Wilkinson was in prison for over 27 years for a crime he did not commit. Released on April 2nd 2013, Dr Frank Wilkinson (B.A., M.A., PhD, and winner of several Koestler awards, including the 2011 Platinum Award for Fiction) remains determined to prove his innocence.
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