After coming back from Vancouver, I have sunk into a funk. For this condition, I have self-prescribed an analgesic treatment of endless back-to-back Dr. Who episodes on Youtube and other internet television. As a result, am picking up distinct estuary accent. And a girlish crush on David Tennant, the first rumblings of which have already appeared below.
I think the only cure will be a long uncomfortable stint in Yorkshire. Visiting reltives in Cheshire and Manchester. Must seek out the last Yorkshire pub that has no TV in it. I've heard people talk about it, though no one seems to know where it is. I think it may have faded away like the ancient sidhe. Or the Tardis.
Am a step or two closer. Got mother's b. certs from her papers and father's b. cert. came in the mail from Liverpool was waiting when I arrived home. Now all I need is marriage cert from British Columbia vital statistics, and am away.
AWAY!
shaking dust off sandals...
if I had any sandals,
which I don't.
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2 comments:
Worth a quest, I should think.
Make sure to get up to the Grampians in Scotland (I studied at the U. of Aberdeen for a term in 1989). Don't miss a trip to Anglesey, either. Finally, a trip to Winchester is mandatory, too. A walk through Alfred the Great's old stomping grounds is a useful reminder that England has held off the ravening darkness before.
I'm taking suggestions for a series of articles "In Search of Catholic England",
H.V.Morton groupie that I am.
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