This was the goal of this run, making it around to the Folly built between the wars by the eccentric Lord Berners and dubbed during its construction as "Lord Berners' monstrous erection" by a local newsman. Fill my head with psychedelics, have a dropped roach burning a difficult-to-explain hole in the sweats, and clear off the facial hair and this could have been shot in 1977: I've got a bottle of cheap whiskey in one hand, a shitty tall boy in the other and I just got back from a run...the more things change the more they stay the same. Of course, I'm much more mature now. | 
3 comments:
Drinking all this Carling must be killing you.Is it actually warm there?
What's killing me is that for my blog I don't count a pub as 'visited' until I have a pint there, so today the two new pubs had great ales on tap and I had to have a half pint of the yellow swill and a half of Wadworth or White Horse. Ice cold, the lager is. Ale is flat but amazing and cellar cold is the right temp.
Of course ...
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