Minimalist poet, minimalist lifestyle

I've just been speaking on the phone to an editor of a poetry magazine and he wasn't too impressed that I don't keep records about who I've sent my poems to, and when I sent them. Because I couldn't provide him with any details he just put the phone down…so it looks like my work won't be appearing in his magazine. Well, it's more his loss than it is mine…I still know that the poems are good enough to be published [because he phoned me up] and will most likely end up being published elsewhere.

I write poetry as a hobby; it's not a bloody business where I have to keep detailed accounts for my accountant or the taxman…I like the random element of submitting work for publication whereby I never know where or when it will be published until I actually receive a copy of the magazine in the post, or see it online.

A bus stops and two Italian men get on. They seat themselves, and engage in animated conversation.
The very proper lady sitting behind them ignores their conversation at first, but her attention is galvanized when she hears one of the men say, "Emma come first. Den I come. Two asses, they come together. I come again. Two asses, they come together again. I come again and pee twice. Then I come once-a more."
"You foul-mouthed swine," retorted the lady indignantly. "In this country we don't talk about our sex lives in public!"
"Hey, coola down lady," said the man. "I justa tella my friend how to spella Mississippi."

It's not the weather for walking at the moment - it's snowing outside. However, I've just been looking at an online Ordnance Survey map of the Hooton Roberts area and it looks like there's some decent walking country there. I don't really know the area; but it's quite easy to get there on public transport - it's situated on the main A630 Sheffield road, just beyond Conisbrough, and there are six buses an hour. In five weeks' time my brother finished his workfare placement at Barnsley and so I'll ask him if he might fancy joining me when the weather is a bit warmer.

A flight attendant was stationed at the departure gate to check tickets.
As a man approached, she extended her hand for the ticket and he opened his trench coat and flashed her.
Without blinking an eyelid she said, "Sir, I need to see your ticket not your stub."