Firstly an apology. As Elinor correctly pointed out last night, for all my complaining I never actually gave my opinion on the Florence song. However this blog is not a musical review site, instead it is a journal of photography and semi-comic complaints.
I liked the song. It was very good. She has an amazing voice. However, anybody who ever attempts to re-record an Irish punk drinking song should be that - drunk. Florence was far too sober, and same applies to the KT Tunstall version I heard recently.
Let's move on. It was the final day of the Borders sale today, with up to 90% reductions in store. Well, we just had to go along and have a looksie, didn't we? As you do. Mother, Father and I descended on the store. Imagine an explosion in a city centre pound shop, with the debris being books, DVDs and calendars. It was a bit like that. There was a bloke who paid at the till next to us, with a big basket packed to bursting with novels, cookbooks, soft porn, how-to guides...hardbacks, paperbacks...you name it, he had it in this basket. The woman behind the till was pulling her hair out. He then asked if she would look after this mountain of books for him whilst he brought his car round.
Naturally, she refused. Good for her, and also I bet he didn't spend more than fifteen, maybe twenty quid. Closing down sales are always fun, and fair play to the Borders staff - considering they were spending the last few hours of their employment watching vultures scavenge for last-minute Christmas bargains in the format of the written word, they were a jolly bunch. One was even dressed as Santa, however another did assure me that they were all "high".
A brief tour of Fosse Park followed, sorting Hannah's Christmas present and condemning my fingertips a little more to frostbite. This weather really seems to be staying, hold out hope for a white Christmas (I still have my case of MO-OCD by the way)
We got back and my keen photographers eye caught sight of the beautiful sky. Kenneth had came to Fosse Park with me in his new backpack, but I popped in to grab a tripod and ran off down the bridle path towards Stanton to take some pictures. I say ran, of course, I lie. I didn't have last nights ridiculous shoes on, but there isn't a lot more grip in my Emericas, which were pretty flat to start with. I swear, I've never concentrated on walking so much since that hike in Beaumanor 2005.
I'll leave you with mine and Ellie's favourite pictures, but I got a nice one of a pylon too. I don't know what this new obsession with taking pictures of pylons is. Maybe it's because they're photogenically symmetrical. Or I've got a case of...ummm...Copenhagen Fever?
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