Our recent trip south was nearly thwarted by an early winter wishy washy white out. Traffic chaos was reported everywhere and the journey looked to be too tough to make. We decided to wait and see, so after some extensive research via Fife Jammer, we left early in the afternoon rather than first thing in the morning. Crazy how established news and formal travel websites are totally unable to pass information in a timely or clear manner when bad weather hits. Local knowledge and common sense actually works. The weather was always going to be poor, the roads well dodgy but we made it all the way to a cold and rainy Manchester without becoming another statistic or getting stuck. So how was I channeling Noel Fielding?
Maybe it was the late night banter about collecting slugs in order to feed the local badgers, living off grid in the backwoods, daft things we believed and did in the 70s. Maybe my eccentric and totally sober attempts at dancing and falling from an unbalanced chair, then relaxing in the cushy red room before soaking up the sounds and beats of a Manchester urban sound system. Could it be scoffing through the Tibetan inspired menu or just too much chilled out Coca-Cola in my system?
I'm no comedian either nor do I live in Narnia. I'm just an alien time traveler who inhabits the damaged inner sanctum of a lost soul which causes bits of my conversation to lapse into spiraling childish thoughts and quips that are Fieldingesque and unfunny. Thankfully this doesn't last and probably goes unnoticed ... but it does made me smile and giggle at bit, inside only. My face remains deadpan. Perhaps there's something in the air.
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