Limes

The fallen leaves that jewel the ground, They know the art of dying.
And leave with joy their glad gold hearts In the scarlet shadows lying.

You can't beat a bit of the old ISB. After a most relaxing morning, papers and bacon rolls and that sort of thing, and an afternoon spent foraging, it's time to get some music on and pull the cork out.
Twentieth Century Boy, I want to be your toy. That ISB are OK in small doses. I may get back to them....
Later, blippoppets...