That time of year again

Two Virgos, one lunchtime. 126 years of less than clean living. Our annual reunion in a favourite Brighton pub.

Been a difficult year for Mr W with some genuinely tragic loss to get through. We talked, drank beer, ate, drank whisky, had coffee, hugged, went our separate ways.

Life is shit, life is beautiful. Definition of paradox.

Couple of hours with Ms. S tonight. Glorious sunset, lovely to catch up over a plate of food.

Blood moon driving home. Stunning and inexplicable.

Just like life really.