Hot day. Home by 5 and fully expect to stay in tonight but it is not to be. Martyn rings after tea and suggests going for a drink in Guiseley. Bloody Hell! Why not? Top marks for this brilliant idea, Martyn! He comes up and 8 and we walk over the fields to the Commercial (dear Beckindale in the classic tv series 'Emmerdale Farm'). We begin with lager and go on to pernod and by 10pm we're quite pissed.
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| Martyn: brilliant idea |
You won't believe this but we decided over our second pernod to go work in Ibiza or Majorca after our holiday. OK, I've said it all before but I've never had anyone to team up with before and Martyn is just as much pissed off with the United Kingdom of Gt Britain as I am. Tony too and Dave of Stockport wouldn't mind leaving this miserable land to find a life of fortune in the Ballearic Islands. How do we go about getting there though? Do we write to the Spanish Embassy or the British Tourist Board? Or what?
We walked home over the fields again but now heavily laden with cow excreta and a profusion of nettles seem to have mysteriously appeared. Up to our buttocks in shit. Home by 10.30 and I entertain Martyn to coffee and toast thickly spread with mustard. He waits to be collected by Karen (Cole) who makes an appearance near midnight. In the cold light of tomorrow morning I will probably think the whole idea of drifting off to Spain is bloody idiotic, but now - here at this minute - all I can think is 'Why not?'
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