‘Are you sure you wanna go just any place?’
I said, ‘If you ever loved someone the way I loved that man,
surely, Mr Ticket Agent, you could understand?’
April. Food (as ever), booze (as ever ever), weather (at last), streets (only the best). Photos below. Do enjoy! Meanwhile, I’m very much looking forward to May. It’ll bring more of the above/below, plus the birthday of the year and some much-longed-for visitors. And as for June, I am yet to find the words.
Pipelines, super-sized Sunday roasts (thank/you/Jesus), rush hour headphones, friends like you wouldn’t believe, breakfast beers, trainers, rum carafes, Neal Street, fresh garms, still snowing, back to Big Hands (William, it was really nothing), porn star martinis, champagne sorbet, giggly mornings, train journeys, hope, side streets, cava in bed, dearest Manchester, new girl syndrome, this is for lovers (running away just for today), lock, stock, and two smoking barrels. That’s about all life’s saying these days.
Still can’t believe I have the weekends to myself for the first time in years. Finally allowing myself to remember what all the fuss is about [after so long chiding those who live-for-them]. So, allow me to sound smug for a moment as I say they’re especially good when: they last four days/you wake up on various sofas and find yourself watching Soccer AM with the giggles/you’re with your favourite old friends and new friends and family/your nails are neon and your dancing wheels are go/you play the taking-turns music game until daylight/you’ve tried to facetime everyone you know/you wake up to find the DJ’s business card in your purse. This is what they look like.