The Finn Again Wakes between the yellow pages of a Look while his hat tricks the rowan into a full Bloom. It says the riot fed itself from the lost cobble stones in their pockets. - That is condensed milk & honey for me while ancient history for James' Dublin and Cohn-Bandits, but perhaps, hopefully, not to the man with the nasal voice.
Now it's Eurovision with all eyes on France and today's only real drama - football. In Neuro Use (oops! I meant Euro News) there's green on the screen and red on the street, but the glass looks like pale, very pale ale. Straight from the fridge it tastes like a good, fresh, refreshing start for the kick-off. Fruity and perky to give stamina to the home team. With your ears alert for the whistle, you barely stand in attention to the long nose.
Semillon gives a timely pass to the ever elegant S. Blanc. Nothing much more happens during this half. Fruit-juice seems to be ambly engulfed on the bench. The coach seems to be nervous. The home team sits back awaiting.
The sun, and the anxiety of the game are heating up. Temperature up 2 to 4 notches: lot's more sweet dreams in the air with some mild, butt-kicking acids. The team seems to be getting sluggish. Passes are missed, and nobody has the strong leg to score with.
With still some hopes of high play in mind, our team plugs in to an unplugged, yet electrifying version of 'Ain't Gonna Work On Maggie's Farm No More' while sipping the last memories of adolescent Bordeaux Blanc. - What could be more playfully joyful than to have a flash-back to one's youth.
