Bloody blokes
This story starts with it's end.
On Sunday, I got home, walked through my front door, into the bedroom, got undressed, had a shower, got out, threw on my dressing gown, sauntered into the living room the very figure of a satisfied gentleman, plonked myself in front of the TV and saw a trailer for a show on ITV2 in which Zoe "Got Rogered on a Plane on Footballers Wives" Lucker travels through India to meet the Dalai Lama. This is important; it'll become clear why in due course. On a purely narrative level, if I left this till the end of my story of the previous weekend, it'd be a downbeat denoument to match both Return of the Jedi and the director's cut of ET where his spaceship takes off and then twats into the Challenger Space Shuttle.
Anyway, conclusion dispensed with it's on to the beginning.
I arrived near the woodland with Henry, Richard and Steven in near-darkness and we immediately clanged head-on into a parking issue which was solved by my mad middle managa skillz. It had the added benefit of leaving me and Henry stood alone together in a Welsh field whilst Steven and Richard tried to find the woodland and Phil whilst John and Sarah tried to find us (incidentally, both missions met with eventual success despite the presence of hellhounds and various participants being royally monged.) During our half hour or so in that field, Henry and I made no mention of the troubles that have flitted in and our of our combined past but they all seemed to melt away for good. Off to a good start then.
The next 40 hours or so were a schmorgasboard of manly wood chopping, fire maintenance, radio listening, hangovers, early morning lager and amiable chinwagging (all with the added benefit of walkie-talkies!). It was beautiful. Serene. Great company, no distractions, all was truly well. I know this to be true because it only felt like I was there 5 minutes. Nothing like sitting round a fire, deep into a late-summer night, miles from anywhere and to just look at the 10 faces round the flames with you and know you're truly blessed. God love yas all.
It's fair to say that by Sunday morning I was refreshed (and knackered at the same time), ready to head back to the real world with my spirit recharged, set firm to take whatever it could throw at me, safe in the knowledge that there was nothing on God's Green Earth that could shake my faith in the species that had spawned my friends. "World", I thought, "do your worst".
Then.
I got home, walked through my front door, into the bedroom, got undressed, had a shower, got out, threw on my dressing gown, sauntered into the living room the very figure of a satisfied gentleman, plonked myself in front of the TV and saw a trailer for a show on ITV2....
On Sunday, I got home, walked through my front door, into the bedroom, got undressed, had a shower, got out, threw on my dressing gown, sauntered into the living room the very figure of a satisfied gentleman, plonked myself in front of the TV and saw a trailer for a show on ITV2 in which Zoe "Got Rogered on a Plane on Footballers Wives" Lucker travels through India to meet the Dalai Lama. This is important; it'll become clear why in due course. On a purely narrative level, if I left this till the end of my story of the previous weekend, it'd be a downbeat denoument to match both Return of the Jedi and the director's cut of ET where his spaceship takes off and then twats into the Challenger Space Shuttle.
Anyway, conclusion dispensed with it's on to the beginning.
I arrived near the woodland with Henry, Richard and Steven in near-darkness and we immediately clanged head-on into a parking issue which was solved by my mad middle managa skillz. It had the added benefit of leaving me and Henry stood alone together in a Welsh field whilst Steven and Richard tried to find the woodland and Phil whilst John and Sarah tried to find us (incidentally, both missions met with eventual success despite the presence of hellhounds and various participants being royally monged.) During our half hour or so in that field, Henry and I made no mention of the troubles that have flitted in and our of our combined past but they all seemed to melt away for good. Off to a good start then.
The next 40 hours or so were a schmorgasboard of manly wood chopping, fire maintenance, radio listening, hangovers, early morning lager and amiable chinwagging (all with the added benefit of walkie-talkies!). It was beautiful. Serene. Great company, no distractions, all was truly well. I know this to be true because it only felt like I was there 5 minutes. Nothing like sitting round a fire, deep into a late-summer night, miles from anywhere and to just look at the 10 faces round the flames with you and know you're truly blessed. God love yas all.
It's fair to say that by Sunday morning I was refreshed (and knackered at the same time), ready to head back to the real world with my spirit recharged, set firm to take whatever it could throw at me, safe in the knowledge that there was nothing on God's Green Earth that could shake my faith in the species that had spawned my friends. "World", I thought, "do your worst".
Then.
I got home, walked through my front door, into the bedroom, got undressed, had a shower, got out, threw on my dressing gown, sauntered into the living room the very figure of a satisfied gentleman, plonked myself in front of the TV and saw a trailer for a show on ITV2....