Thursday, 2 June 2011
It's nice to go away - and it's nice to come back
A week off from an office should never be sneezed at - even during these highly pollinated times. And when yer skint. So when presented with the opportunity to fuck off for a bit, whether your nose is runny or your wallet empty, there's only one thing to do. Raid the penny draw, get a tissue out and snort it up. Time off is time off. Get out there and see the world. That's what I thought when I was working through the final three days of my notice period in a previous job. And so fate (and the generosity of the trainline's early booking system) enabled us to get out of the smoke and hit up Stafford, North Wales, Manchester and Sheffield in a blizzard of smoke, pints and hot wheels. That's right. Probably about as far from new horizons as you could get without returning to the womb, but a change is as good as a rest isn't it? Or a womb?
Turning up in Stafford dead gaseous and baggy of eye wasn't initially the one but, after letting the 'devil' out at Northampton, the rest of the seven day cup did runneth over with thrills and spills. Stumbling round Mam Tor talking shit and picking through sheep bones was one. It was exhilirating to get a real Heathcliff/Wuthering Heights flex on while everyone else was in school. Having to run from Salford to Manchester Piccadilly Train was even more exhilirating. The lungs have yet to get over it, but the sprint was part of a pre-planned strategy to prevent missing yet another train after getting bastardised in Manchester the night before.
Signs of supposedly oncoming maturity were confronted by meeting a pair of drooling babies. Lovely. Cars also played a part as I took a ride in our uncle's Chrysler and discussed Great Uncle Len who was so fed up, he threw himself in front of a train. An even happier ride was taken down in the vehicle that my dad's retirement is riding on - his italian stallion is his pride of joy and possibly receives more care and attention than his better half (my mum - #justsayin'). We gambled on two pence machines in Wales, danced to Simply Red in Sheffield and watched men who'd supposedly survived four heart attacks snort industrial strength gak in Manc. The jaunt culminated in a fry up and an intense, pissed up battle on the snooker table. Before heading back to the smoke on the Friday to reboard the murky choo choo... Nice one to everyone who put us up and propped us up. Fuck it was mint...
Roule is the one
Trains run through Edale like smoke through the nostrils of a dragon
Lost dog walker out of his mind on a Kelham Island brew
We all know what that's code for don't we boys and girls?
A badly turned out ankle - standard dog walker flex
Who are ewe looking at?
Curiousity could kill the lonely dog walker
It's like nature and that innit
Pissing on nature - call the National Trust helpline
Death stalks the earth - especially if you're a hungry sheep lost near Mam Tor
Breakfast in Manchester
Everyone knows Bobby in Salford. If you don't know, then get to know
Culkin on da toilet wall - Usually is. He usually is the dirty bastard
Mash up dog lighter crew
Salford by night - pished and urban
Just a little supper
Does it what it says on the bar
Elephant baby flex
Penguin baby flex
Mancunia - they know what time it is
Bread and butter cake Welsh stylez
Pork belly business
Family tree scrawled on back of an envelope in the pub - 'not marriage material'
The stake's is high. We played to win
Lunch in Welsh cafe - big looks
Going up for illegal drugs, panty hose and cottaging
The windiest, most desolate place in North Wales - so windy they forgot to name it
An aircraft with a massive rubbery tit
808 State - they call it Aciiiiiiiiidddd...
Vet magazine business
Midlife crisis in stasis
Behind the wheel of Pa's motor
Stafford is a thriving metropolis. Don't forget that
Fuck off a minute