Bless the sun!

I was walking - or fighting to move forward - in Oxford Street a while ago when I spotted an Argos store window full of summer promotions. A camping tent for just 99 pounds. Ok, it was a tent for ten people. By why would I want a tent for 10 people? Hmmm, second thought. I like space and it would be good to have a living room just in case it rains and you have to be indoors.

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I was walking - or fighting to move forward - in Oxford Street a while ago when I heard a guy saying to another "Vamos massacrar", "nao, vamu massacra", "isso, vamu massacra, veri gudi". Mas hein, Bin Laden tah recrutando?

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I was walking - or fighting to move forward - in Oxford Street a while ago when I passed by the Brazilian Embassy (which is NOT in Oxford Street by the way) and saw a bunch of people wearing the Brazilian football t-shirt. "A protest? On a Friday? Nah, we don't do that on Fridays", I thought. Then the light: today is Brazil x England game!!!

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I was walking - or fighting to move forward - in Oxford Street a while ago and I was thinking why I wasn't goiong to the game, and instead, I was going to a Gypsy show. Oh, yeah, the tickets cost 45 quid each. 45 pounds is quite a lot of money to see a friendly game that our team might even lose. Makes sense.

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I was walking - or fighting to move forward - in Oxford Street a while ago when I decided I want to write a book. What would it be about? A biography? Hmmm, I didn't come up from nowhere, I didn't have a hell of a life, I wasn't spancked by my parents, raped, or kidnapped. I wasn't "that" close to death to tell my experience in the tunnel of light. I didn't work as a volunteer in some country Africa devasted by civil war and had to fight for my life at the same time I was trying to save starving children. I'm not dating a famous football player. I'm not a famous singer. No, my life can be pretty plain and boring comparing to that. Should I try to come up with a fiction story? Inspiration, inspiration.

Would somebody buy a book about trying to write a book?

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I was walking - or fighting to move forward - in Oxford Street a while ago when I felt my armpits sweating. Damn deodorant; it was supposed to be anti-perspirant!