Not all travels are to far flung places. If that were my life I’d be dead within a month, transatlantic flights really take it out of crappy lungs and add an extra spicy exhaustion to the general tiredy tireds that come with crappy lungs. There are, of course, some who’d pay to see me dead within a month. Luckily none of them know I live at 23 Acacia Avenue, Swindon. Oh shit, what a giveaway!
Today was another jaunt up into old stomping grounds in Somerset. Situated in one of the most picturesque parts of the Somerset Levels, Langport is therefore one of the still nice parts of that county. In fact most of the county is still nice, it’s just Taunton that has been ruined by the ludicrous notions of successive town councillors. Apparently historic buildings and county traditions are irrelevant to the modern town; building ugly things and ripping the soul out of the place is where it’s been at for almost twenty years. Remember when the town had a thriving music scene? Yeah? Well forget it entirely because that’s never going to happen again. Youth culture is frowned upon in Taunton now unless it involves drinking over priced beverages, vomiting, shagging behind bins and being a total dick.
Ahem. Rant over. Langport is, as I say, still nice. Rustic. Rural. Other words beginning with R probably apply. I was there to see my old friend Chris who I’d last seen a month or so ago in Michigan of the United States variety, which was the first time we’d met up in almost twenty years. Good to do so again without another two decade gap. We chewed the fat and chewed on some tasty fried breakfast lunches. Chilled times just like when we were slightly reformed tearaways in our early twenties.
I’ve spent the afternoon since chatting via the interworld with Scott who is back over there in that Ohio of the United States variety and listening to Sinead O’Connor (am pretty sure the first time I ever heard her album with the Prince cover on it was round at Chris’s flat nearly thirty years ago). I may move on to some Edie Brickell next. It’s that kind of nostalgic day. No really, it is. We will never see the likes of March 28th 2017 again. Remember how it shone like a shining thing that is quite shiny? Now forget it because I’ve taken some big painkillers and can’t even remember my own name.