The dangers of pork

I've been neglecting this blog of late, so much so that I fear social services may take it away at any moment and rehouse it with some foster posters.

At the weekend I went to London for a bash. It was marvellous. The tube was broken so I had to walk through London in the rain to get to the party. I didn't mind though, because it was a lovely stroll. Almost every street I walked down had a memory tied to it. First dates, last dates, chance encounters, drinking adventures and even quiet moments.

The party was good too, a load of old friends that I've sadly rather fallen out of touch with, well apart from email exchanges. It was by anyone's standards a lovely reunion. I ended up crashing at chums place and then meeting another chum for breakfast and then ambling off for a first date. The date wasn't a huge success, but it rounded off a pretty good weekend.

I miss London, and I'm resolved to return, which is I said to my boss that I wanted to see about a transfer to the London office. I do enjoy the people I work with but I just don't know anyone outside of work up here and so it's a but dull in the evenings to say the least.

I think, if I was settled down, cottage life would be fine but since I'm not it's not quite right. Instead I'm stuck eating vast amounts of pork as a source of entertainment. I ate so much tonight that I had to wobble down to the wine shop to get some port otherwise I would be dead, FACT*

I need a new hobby.

*Not actual fact