Back to the future

Back in England now. I miss the states. I miss the food. I miss the weak beer. I miss the weather and I miss being constantly bewildered by the sheer magnitude of everything, the portion sizes, the girls voices, the amount of cars and the friendliness of almost everyone I met there. What a fucking great place.

London welcomed me at six on the morning with a grey sky, a shiver and a pouch of golden virginia. I really missed that baccy. Sad, I know, but definitely worth coming home for.

I stayed on in London for a few days. I saw my cousin. His name is Steven. I remember him as widget. He's a kind soul with a hearty laugh and a knack for having a good time. Good lad that Widget. I met up with some friends, one is called Emily, one is called Neda. They are beautiful people with beautiful faces. We sat in the cold and shared stories and chuckles. We drank booze and cussed "the old days". We smoked fags and celebrated "the good times". I'll see a lot more of those girls in the coming months I'm sure.

I fled London and went to Manchester. By now my stubble was growing thick and my lame attempt at a ginger man's tan, was all but a distant dream. I was still in high spirits though and decided to throw a reunion party. It went well of course. I ended up at home by midnight, having fled the scene of the party after fighting a bouncer. My crowning moments are usually drowned out by the sound of my own cocky, liquor glazed voice, shouting at someone for being a cunt, when it's clear who the cunt really is.

Manchester was great, I stayed for a day. Or something. I bought guitar hero for my wii. I was dreading the wii would be gone upon my return, but my brother had done me proud and kept it well away from the clutches of the ex girlfriend. I'm not keeping scores against everyone I get one up on, but I'll quietly count that as one nil to me, with the assist going to my brother.

I drank booze all over manchester. I drank in bars I shouldnt go to, because people there hate me, and I drank alcohol in pubs that welcomed me with smiles and hugs. Great town Manchester, I just don't think I could live there again.

Next was Bristol. I stayed in Bristol for a good few days, with my friend Danny. I've known Danny for a fucking long time now and he hasn't changed a bit. Which is great, he'll be a perennial fixture in my address book for the rest of my life. We played football games and talked about Manchester United. We went to a house party with a fear and loathing theme, not only did we look the part, but we acted accordingly too. There were many people there, there was loud electro house Music, there were bats hanging from the ceiling and there was cider. I was glad to be in Bristol. It rained in Bristol and I grew tired. I stayed a few more days and went for dinner at a Lebanese restaurant. I drank warm oaky wine and ate a shit ton of hummus. Lovely.


I'm now in the homeland. The place I was raised. The place that grounds me and makes me forget everything about the world. This place is called Devon. Devon is a large county, with plenty of fresh produce, plenty of animals and beautiful countryside. Devon is full of childhood friends and memories too numerous to mention. Devon forgets about the word busy, about the word bustle, about the word stress. Devon does everything it's own way. I've been staying in Budleigh Salterton with my mate Ed. We ate great food and prepared for his birthday party. We stayed to the wee hours watching bullshit tv and talking bullshit. That's the thing I've been looking forward to the most this whole year. It's done now though, so it's on to the next.


Ed's 22nd birthday party had an eighties them and looked like this:



















After leaving Ed's me and a few friends decided to climb a radio mast at ten in the morning, I later discovered the mast is 1512 feet high. This is me at the top looking thoroughly unsafe.




Im in bed now and have been for a few days. Birthdays kinda take it out of you.