If it were not for the lingering chocolate
in the house, I’d swear Easter never happened, it really does feel like
that long ago. I’m not sure what
that fact bears witness to – the
slightly insane work situation perhaps (when four became two) or the fact that
Spring has, almost, nearly, kind of, sort of sprung and the longer days and (albeit
weak) sunshine feel like the end of the apocalypse and the start of life anew?
Either way, Lovely Boy’s and my week away traversing the northwest and west of the UK
feels like a surreal, visually stunning intermission between “before” and
“now”.
The plan was to cram in all the parts of
the UK that we hadn’t seen before, in the way that only Australians can. And by
that I mean, casually intending to spend seven days driving 1252km and
explaining to English colleagues who look at you like you’re fucking mad that
hello, it’s only 876km from Sydney to Melbourne. 1252km is but a scenic spin.
