The words of David Coverdale ring prophetically in my ears.
It is a year (and a bit) since my last post. Probably nobody is listening any more. Or reading. But what is time? Merely a concept, like infinity. A year, a second, it’s all the same to the rugged voyager on his journey to Epiphany.
Last year I was at Land’s End. Much has changed since then. My bicycle was stolen by hoodies. The pain in my rear has disappeared. I am now forty years old, and therefore ripe for even more hilarious mid-life antics. Decisions were made.
I decided to move on again, back to the East. But before I got onto the plane, I decided to have a good look at my own country – to journey its length and breadth and peer under some of its stones. It was a good journey. From Manchester, I went north, to Inverness, then to Ullapool and on, via sea, to Stornoway in the Outer Hebrides. The Hebridean Celtic Music Festival was in full swing, and I duly grooved and/or jigged merrily to the pipes.
I then travelled almost the while length of the country back through Manchester, bidding it a fond farewell, to Cleeve Prior (where the ducks are still half-tame) to Exeter, just in time for the arrival of my second niece, Natalie (or ‘Potato’ as her sister calls her). Thence to Heathrow, and here, to Hong Kong, where I have determined to make my fortune, by betting on horse races.
Stay tuned. More adventures and revelations await…