Stand on Sands of Zanzebard

Down at the Zanze on sea and cool cat poets. It was a barmy night and tired of 'big sir' (as she likes now to be called) I drift wood into the old Zanze Cafe where hip op dudes were playing tunes to two young chicks - soon to split, to do body surfing down the Bradford beck's legendary rip tided tubes. The night was hot with the steam of the coffee shop as we hear the gerrs, sissies, wees and pops of Bruce competing with the coffee frothier, Karl dude plays with his MI5 remodeled musus ex machine, Jim the folk peoples' poet sheared thoughts on the war, while Gloria haikus' the menus and I lament as always on the passing of youth and love. The night only to be topped like the Marshmallows on an already 'Why' frothy coffee by Thom the World dude Poet. So cool as to be Ice Tea, so the cool finger clicking night rang no shark bell - even the constant tide of human traffic added to the flow. So you Surfer chicks and dudes who want to check it out, first Tuesday of the month and you know I won't be surfing the interweb, but hanging with the dude poets at the Zanzebard... Hay, Way better then a night in with pipe and slippers, then a night out with same...