The sun is out (as are the snowdrops and catkins); that’s two days in a row. If you half close your eyes you can almost imagine that spring is here. I caught up with two old friends in York. I sat in the smallest snug in the Wellington, with Gordon, enjoying the ambience and the fire. It’s not often I share a pint with a man who admits to having cheered when the planes flew into the Twin Towers on September 11, 2001.
This morning I visited Bryn, who lives in a static caravan at the bottom of somebody’s garden (it may not have been static when he first moved in, but it surely is now). It must be twenty years since we last clapped eyes on each other. We had a wander down Memory Lane (or rather, to the transport caff on the A19 for a cheap and cheerful lunch)…
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