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danielhunter.bsky.social
Breaking down the walls of heartburn
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It is now spring.

Smashing guitars on-stage. Not big and not clever.

Shed’s getting too hot for the exercise bike. Might have to venture out on the roads.

‘People who are too tall bumble around like big dogs.’ There’s a certain truth in this.

Six red kites swooping around at the edge of the village. The birdpocalyse is finally upon us.

‘How shit must you be? We’re winning away.’

Who is this Jim guy everyone keeps going to?

Writers who write about writers bore me. It’s lazy and transparent.

Watching An t-Eilean in preparation for a Hebridean journey.

Some say Teigny lost cred when he joined Tight Fit but I say he was a falsetto maestro.

Blanch Rae’s proper old gravestone in Ecclefechan.

LEAVE MY DAMN GEESE OUT OF THIS

I take it your weekend in Eskdalemuir was a little disappointing, your Holiness?

Cursing our sexual organs is a bit below the belt.

Wow, the Bishop of Glasgow gave us a proper fucking cursing.

Thinking of issuing a Monition of Cursing.

Always suspected if I researched long enough I’d discover a slave trader in the family and it looks like I’m getting there.

Granted I’ve only been to Mass once since 1977 but I reckon I’ve an outside chance of grabbing the Pontiff job.

The proddies get very excited when the Pope’s about to die.

Just applied for concert tickets. 4 x Category A. Go big or go home.

Glad I don’t support Stoke.