Great weekend. Popped down (well, weaved our way
down) to NM on Saturday to see a recovering-nicely Mike. He is in a very
positive frame of mind, and feeling better after the excitements and
stress of the last few weeks, no doubt. Later
in the day, went to Joey’s lovely little flat in Bournemouth on
Saturday and put the world to rights over beer, wine, rum and lovely
Moroccan lentil and haloumi wraps. Vowed to go to Brisfest, and campin
in Portland later in the year. Old vinyl and fairy lights,
laughter and plotting. She’s a good girl, that one, and it was nice to
see Tam having a good old chat and a catch-up, too.
Sunday morning we eschewed breakfast in favour of a
little trip down to Studland and Knoll Beach (insert Vine here) which
was lovely, not to mention being bloody good exercise. Randomly bumped
into a Weimaraner and Matt Nailon, from back
in the Paragon days. Didn’t say hello to either, as I find the former
uncommunicative and the latter intimitdating. Still, small world.
Trip back was pretty run-of-the-mill, got home and
felt slightly cheaty curling up in front of Breaking Bad, after 24 hours
in Joey’s TV-free, book-addled house. Hey ho, when I’ve got room for
records and books, it’s records and books I’ll
have.
A cursory glance in the general of the housing
market suggests that we could rent a four-bed slice of sanity with
views over Plymouth Hoe for half what we pay here. Further plans are,
you’ll not be surprised to learn, being drawn up.
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