vendredi, janvier 4 2019 08:10
Time what is time... John? An answer ?
Similar to my incomprehension of the song by Blind Guardian, I am unsure as to what happened on this Thursday evening. It all started, as most winter's tales do, on a quiet and cold night. The air cold with the promise of coming frost, shadowy figures could be seen darting from street light to street light before doing a mad dash for the pool of light, warmth and comfort that is the Gamerkins hideout. Once inside all thought of the bone chilling atmosphere is forgotten. For all Gamerkin smile at you as you enter and greet them warmly. All ? Yes all! Even the dastardly Olivier. Anyhow I am losing track of the point of this story with all these recollections of happy new year wishes and good...