The more observant of you will notice i’ve been not particularly active on this platform recently. But things have been afoot, work has been busy with becoming a drone pilot and all that, but more fun than that, if you can bear the excitement, I know i find it hard to keep a lid on my immature self, my love of mucking about, and my inability to grow up into a fully grown mental man.

A brief rundown of whats happened of late may go something like this: I stayed on a deer park, in a converted watermelon house overlooking a massive Victorian walled orchard and garden, this all happened after driving pretty much across the whole country to see the Chameleons at some studio in Norwich where they used to film Tricia (who I always had a crush on, sue me, I love her and want to protect her). Anyway we were staying as guests of some huge art dealer who is a business partner of a friend of a friend who runs 2 amazing pubs in the far flung regions of Norfolk, one opposite a tiny railway station the other on a Deer Park, where the watermelon house was. After many pints, a handful of cocktails, a pretty mediocre support band with a harsh screetch like a baby vulture probably has, then a chicken kebab with the trimmings and a taxi home from a taxi rank next to one of 3 strip bars which we walked past on a muggy Wednesday night in Norwich. The Chameleons were fucking awesome as ever, and there was more than enough room to have a dance like I would have done in the Indie Disco, all beseeching hands and angular leg moves; at this point in time I think I’ve probably got my dancing Mojo back having lost it when the kids were young, possibly threw it out with some nappies. Anyway a taxi back to the gates of the deer park, and once inside I’m in private grounds so anything goes. And as the watermelon house was a fair distance in the dark and pretty much no idea where I was I was beckoned to follow, in my car, our host and cocktail aficionado, in his car. Dark shadowy woodland, gravel driveways, occasional flashes of sleepy eyes as the car lights swept across the grassland, we drove through some massive courtyard and an enormous Manor House, over a pretty white bridge and came to a halt under some yew trees, where we stopped the car, left the car and followed our host to the tower. The key was under the mat, he gave us a takeaway tray with some fresh milk to make morning tea, which we left open on the kitchen table and woke up to find a fly drowned and partly submerged.

 

We went to Mundesley sands, far nicer than the popular tourist spots for a swim, but the weather was pish and cold, had my travelling companion and long term old school friend have taken a dip I would have probably ridden on his coat tails and would have lied to you, claiming i’d been for a swim, and would believe it until it felt true to me when all it would have been was spot of BIRGing. Lunch in Holt, a spot of record shopping and a pint of low alcohol beer saw me sufficiently fuelled to make the 4 hour trip home. I took the cross country route, and it was the second day of the test match which was truly exhausting, so when I ultimately did arrive back at the family farm, was well and truly fucked; ready for the next adventure. I’ll mention it in passing next time, as I’m not keen to flog you a diary, this is meant to be a controversial spot where all the cool kids hang out.

And then I and then I and then I… Its not that sort of thing, more experienced followers know this and demand this sort of honesty.

Night stinkers