Friday, September 07, 2007

Handsome Devil 

Forty one and still beautiful. If only I knew how I do it I'd bottle it and make good my fortune.

We took the afternoon off work and put the Suzuki Migraine through its paces on the lovely A59. The sun shone and the engine purred as we fair whizzed through the Dales, past fields of hay bales and the North European Gas Pipeline, and all was green and golden.

Girlfriend had booked us into a B&B in York, an attractive place with lots of glass and wooden cladding, which looked like it might well have arrived that very morning from Stockholm in kit form.
We checked into our room and she presented me with a Green and Blacks variety pack and a half bottle of something cold and fizzy, so we sat out in the garden looking at the frogs and the goldfish, and it was very pleasant.

Later on we had a birthday meal in a quiet little place down one of those ambling cobbled streets that York does terrifically well – those Roman town planners really knew their shit - while a young lad picked away classically on a guitar.
Then we looked for somewhere to pursue our new hobby - consuming cocktails; I'd never have seen that coming five years ago - but the place we'd been recommended was way too noisy so we settled instead for a few in the world's oldest pub, like, ever.

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