We journeyed up to the Paradise Peninsula (aka the Wirral) the weekend before I reached the ripe old pensionable age of 33. Our time in the North West veered between cooing at babies and binging so heavily that we were still supping on a 40 quid bottle of white wine come 8am on Sunday morning. Oh yes. Age may be coming for us but that doesn't mean you go home rather than going hard. You just pay for it for days afterwards. Days and days. But the best bits of our jaunt were numerous; frolicks with a baby, digging into a Wetherspoons platter with absolutely no nutritional value and attending a charity gig which turned into an unexpected total all nighter. I spent the last day as a 32 year old rushing and drink M&S lager. How gourmet...
|tomato on the tracks|
|a meal with 3,000 calories in it|
|Bit David Lynch|
|The blue grass outfit|
|More dancing to bluegrass|
|Impromptu cheese binge in Marks|