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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