Back to London - where it's normal; the air tastes like someone farted into a sack of dry cement, everyone hates you, and the price of a pint of beer makes you want to cry. Oh, how I've missed you!
To my sanctuary, the Small River. And I needed one more 7+ to chip me over the 200 from the river. Got - one of fifteen barbel in a 3 hour dash - a little slice of heaven!
Slow down mate, you'll be a burned out husk by August.
ReplyDeleteLove the description of London by the way.
You might well be right - better pace myself!
DeleteLovely London!!
You want a flake with that!?
ReplyDeleteDidn't touch the sides :)
DeleteLondon smells of farts :) love that, but I haven't been down there yet.....smells travel fast!
ReplyDeleteI'm sure you'll venture down there at some stage. Looks like someone has chucked a load more little carp in.
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