Visitors can check out the Forum FAQ by clicking this link. You have to register before you can post: click the REGISTER link above to proceed. To start viewing messages, select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below. View our Forum Privacy Policy.
Want to receive the latest contracting news and advice straight to your inbox? Sign up to the ContractorUK newsletter here. Every sign up will also be entered into a draw to WIN £100 Amazon vouchers!
You are not logged in or you do not have permission to access this page. This could be due to one of several reasons:
You are not logged in. If you are already registered, fill in the form below to log in, or follow the "Sign Up" link to register a new account.
You may not have sufficient privileges to access this page. Are you trying to edit someone else's post, access administrative features or some other privileged system?
If you are trying to post, the administrator may have disabled your account, or it may be awaiting activation.
Now that I like WS. I have no idea why, but if I like it it must be deep and meaningful. You are clearly a man of depth and insight. Or you talk bollox. I have often found they are one and the same.
No fiddle???? CUK not de same without fiddle! I's off to rock in my crib and suck my thumb an cry now. I miss him.
Fiddle wandered long and far without his nurse. The chill winter rain soaked his flimsy nightgown, yet still he stumbled on. Where was he headed? He did not know. All he knew was that he must continue.
Fiddle came to a deserted shore. The angry waves crashed against the broken rocks of the beach. Fiddle smiled; for he knew death would come shortly.
In the distance, he spotted a woman dressed in white, sitting on a rock. Her golden hair flowed in the wind. As he approached, Fiddle noticed that the woman was throwing daisies into the sea.
“What are you doing?” enquired Fiddle.
The woman sighed, “I am counting the minutes that my love has been parted from me. Each daisy represents a minute”.
“What happened to your love?”
“He has not yet found life.”
“Not found life? Is he dead?”
“No. He never had a life. I met him in my dream, but he was gone when I woke.”
Fiddle wandered into the ocean, until the water covered his head. He knew that time would replay the scene and that he would meet the woman again.
This thread is totally dedicated at developing means to bait fiddleabout out of his excile -- don't post here, start new threads so that he would not be able to resist to post. threaded where are you?
Leave a comment: