Whining about stuff (ii) [Rock&Roll holidays]
It turns out that one can make a reasonable stab at writing fiction on one's phone. While standing half-cut in a half-full basement half-watching a psych band called 'The Soft-Hearted Scientists'. I guess because the noise from the rest of the universe has been drowned out, so it's just you and Android auto-cucumber.
It didn't last, of course.
The drive to Cardigan was exactly as long as I had planned, which must mean I've reached some optimal bloke-state and will have to take up golf and/or topiary. The mildly odd bit was the landscape out past Halfway (it's not halfway) which contained more abandoned property than seemed likely. I wanted to stop at the abandoned motel and take pictures, but, y'know. Things. We stopped somewhere that was not Halfway in the closest thing to a US roadside diner that I have found in this country. The A1 Diner kind of mostly fails to count because it's a hyper-real version of a thing that doesn't actually exist outside film or television. The shop attached sold one of everything, so I bought a copy of Classic Tractor magazine.
Cardigan is not the place I would have associated with pulsating rock&roll malarkey. For instance your choice of takeaway after half-nine on a Saturday is curry or other curry. We went with curry, which was really rather good. Earlier, the Cellar Bar had been rammed out as people grooved carefully to Astralasia having it ambient and ululation. They were a jolly friendly crowd and no mistake, helped along by the many fine ales of the Mantle Brewery. There were regular deliveries throughout the weekend, since it seems that middle-aged prog/psych fans are up there with the gothics in the amateur drinking leagues. ('Away fixture at Cropredy? We're all going to die..')
It didn't last, of course.
The drive to Cardigan was exactly as long as I had planned, which must mean I've reached some optimal bloke-state and will have to take up golf and/or topiary. The mildly odd bit was the landscape out past Halfway (it's not halfway) which contained more abandoned property than seemed likely. I wanted to stop at the abandoned motel and take pictures, but, y'know. Things. We stopped somewhere that was not Halfway in the closest thing to a US roadside diner that I have found in this country. The A1 Diner kind of mostly fails to count because it's a hyper-real version of a thing that doesn't actually exist outside film or television. The shop attached sold one of everything, so I bought a copy of Classic Tractor magazine.
Cardigan is not the place I would have associated with pulsating rock&roll malarkey. For instance your choice of takeaway after half-nine on a Saturday is curry or other curry. We went with curry, which was really rather good. Earlier, the Cellar Bar had been rammed out as people grooved carefully to Astralasia having it ambient and ululation. They were a jolly friendly crowd and no mistake, helped along by the many fine ales of the Mantle Brewery. There were regular deliveries throughout the weekend, since it seems that middle-aged prog/psych fans are up there with the gothics in the amateur drinking leagues. ('Away fixture at Cropredy? We're all going to die..')