Bearing in mind I just visited the finest pub in Worcestershire; The Fox, in case you’re asking, They have a contactless method of payment but if you arrive with such a thing then you can pretty well fuck off. They don’t like new things, the precious things are what they are, but whichever way you look at it, they don’t like customers. I’ve been twice in 10 days and whenever I enter the pub am grinning like a shitting dog to try and appease the landlord, pissed 20 years ago, consolidating ever since. J, my friend arrived with a £50 note, it caused a minor tantrum with much under breath swearing. The landlord, whilst taking on the theme of being a slightly aloof insane lovely bloke, probably, is also a cunt. Someone who you probably wouldn’t trust as far as you could throw your belt should your trousers fall off, which on occasion they may be prone to.
Next week, we plan to announce to the world that we, Mr and Mrs T have indeed walked 100 miles in one month, as part of our regime to get beach presentable rather than in any way gorgeous, well maybe Mrs T can attain those dizzy heights, I certainly can’t.
But in February, we strike for the Lake District, to celebrate the significant 3 score birthday of the classic naturalist Dr S, friend and natural world expert of this blog (its an important position and make no mistake) Buttermere, superstitious or not, real of fake in its existence will definitely be surround by lanigerous producing mammals, that much is true.