Because Friday night’s Music Night: scorchio!
Check the forecast. A month ago I thought autumn was heading in fast, what with the conkers lying all around by the end of a drizzly August. Yet for some reason it’s a roasting week here in old Blighty so your humble correspondent is doing a bunk. Tomorrow morning I’ll chuck a rucksack in the motor and bugger off somewhere. Don’t know where, maybe north, maybe west, but I’ll have the walking boots with me. Hiking a few miles, sniffing out a few ancient churches, maybe an iron age hillfort and a cozy pub, give me that and I couldn’t be happier. I would have the tent with me but I need to be in front of a TV on Saturday morning to see England’s fine rugger chaps welly the Jocks out of the World Cup, so I’ll see if a that cozy boozer has any room at the inn.
So knowing we’ll be foregoing consumption of some sounds tomorrow we can drag it forward a bit –