B a c k

+ couldn't a been more delighted to snuggle + huggle it up with a fine array of long lost souls.

Once I'd got over the anticipated oppression of the thick low grey clouds clutching onto the Lancashire horizons and acclimatised to the sorrowful absence of a surrounding vision of them fine + pretty high rocks all round, it sure felt like the most beautiful thing in the world to be back. Within an hour of our slobbering arrival, Lish had already pedalled to just one of the dozens of Asian grocery stores [just you wait, stores, until I unleash my empty bus + throw my cash upon you] situated so handsomely close to our temporary doorstep armed with a rainbow of ingredients to whizz up a home-coming feast. And within two hours Si and I ventured into the frosty abandoned expanse of a pitch dark Cheequee Bus hosting a floor-to-ceiling chaotic assemblage of rammed in last minute mayhem that we didn't have time to give away or skip; but in there somewhere, were my trembling neglected stoic frames. Within 2 point 5 hours, I was riding a bicycle again and I "C O R R R R'D" my way all along the freakishly flat but still gloriously familiar roads to the pub, that there sat a rustic table full of gleaming beaming bantering faces.

Photo : Les Petit Dejuner a la Chamonix. Din dins in Rusholme.