Mash

By madamenreve

September 29, 2020

Category: writing

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As an autumnal defective to obtaining the last of the summertime, you can quickly go camping at the end of September and not get the frost. You can take aim for Alan Partridge your old flat mate who reclaimed Norwich with his urban regeneration plan. You catch the train south, and cross to the east from Peterborough, though York is there as a Kit Kat breaker to stopping off at a sense of holidaying lentement.

None of the story much counts but for the pensioner waiting (for you?) in the centrally ambient district at a bar near to cobbling in history. He asks to take your photo from the back view and gets you the same as what you just had, all with the open discussion for being & looking writerly. The bar shuts early at half eight and a toddle off tour to visit a bungalow seems averagely convenient to a taxi ride and helping to hold a walking stick. There’s a web gadget called Alexa, and she can be got to play rock music. The house has a tidy row in tone to new furniture with the odd tags still on. There is tiling to the clear floor and a heap of unfolded blankets. There’s a hot water maker and a basic kitchen with a hole for a cooker.

An accommodation to hearing a soft regional accent is diametrically reposed to tea taking and in two rooms there are brush and dustpan stands, as well as a litter claw. Home (au) pairing is a civic duty and a pleasure to those who have lived a widened life and gone back to being simpletons. Retirement and companionships hold prooves to the puddings of story telling, whereby sounding like anything interesting is listened through or the music goes on. Nobody has to get much but a bit of respective and the chance to agree to stay on a bit longer than normal can mean you’re a pen pal and you can go on the couch. Significant stations to quirky relations. The morning means the back door opens and you pass out through the garden gate hung on with wind chimes, as directed across the green pitch with a hedge at the end and a gap through.

Alan is reorientated for towards Norwich, as though onwards to green countryside. At a campsite with a pit-bull hitched low to a tow bar there is also a floppy puppy. Five days of walking on trails, for there is sunshine everywhere and also there are blackberries. At a pub called The King’s Head, probably Prince Philip has just arrived and is buying crisps at the bar from his wheelchair. A number of years ago there had been hares and hounds passing through as a search party and it overlaps your present coincidence to be here. The last day is left for catching a bus to look for Alan from the top deck to a better skyline. What if he is probably near a cake shop. Can parting slices go where the crumbs get out.

A text arrives and says come back and visit the hedgehog. It’s Monday so you’ve overspent the weekend for a leisurely return. Tuesday Wednesday Thursday and Norwich Cathedral, the most very beautiful inside area ever.

In the end it’s two nights back at the going home bungalow though by then frost is dropping. One day would’ve been enough, though by after lunchtime on day one it’s too late to set off until the next day.

Footnote at Dr. Harold Shipman

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