Monday, January 28, 2008

Pleasant Valley Sunday 

We Sunday eveninged at a secret location in ruralest central Lancs.

Joella and M were mini-breaking in a cottage not much larger than a Volvo, and in exchange for hints and tips on fun things to do in the Forest of Bowland in the cold and rain, we were fed and taken to the pub. I think we got a pretty good deal.
The pub was close enough to make it hardly worth putting shoes on for the walk, and me and Girlfriend drank much more than was sensible for a school night.
After that we listened to music, talked gibberish and drank some more. It was all terrifically agreeable.

We slept in bunk beds which, what with all the swaying inside the room, put me in mind of the Hull to Zeebrugge ferry.
And we were woken by someone next door with the world's loudest vacuum cleaner, who I assume had been hankering for hours to do some cleaning and at seven o'clock decided they'd put it off long enough.
The drive into work took absolutely ages – note to self: don't go and live at a secret location in ruralest central Lancs, unless I want a five hour daily commute – and all day everything has tasted of raspberry sambuca.

I'm afraid I had to wikipedia a list of American States to find the one which didn't contain any of the letters in “George W Bush,” Joella's pub question.
There's only so many times you can say “Ooh! I think it's Hawaii... Oh. Maybe not,” before you start getting on your own nerves.

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