Visiting my Mum

Dear George,

I hope this message finds you well.  It's very early in the morning here.  I've just had a week off work and am struggling to get back into my early to work routine.  It is a pleasant 14*C outside at the moment.  My train was on time today but there were ticket inspectors at London Bridge which took everyone by surprise... I had i ticket, along with everyone else, it was just a shock to the fragile Monday morning mind.  I don't believe i've ever seen them there before.  Still, it slowed down the journey to work by a significant margin.  Stamps, 46p

"A week off Dave?  Whatever did you do?" I hear you cry.

Well nothing.  I had to take the week off to use up holiday.  I was very pleasant not to have to be at work and spend my days making exciting things for dinner and tending to the garden...If this is what life as an old age pensioner has in store, count me in!  However, since the holiday was kind of short notice, and most of my friends work in theatre, live outside of zone 5 or are currently on the other side of the world ...oh and let us not forget about the rioting and looting all around me... there was very little for me to do.  So, with London under siege i decided to escape and travel up north to visit my Mum.

Mum lives in the little town of Leek, outside of Stoke-on-Trent.  An idyllic typical English town with a market square, cobbled streets and a high pub to public ratio.  It was very nice getting away from London and took a whole 1h 20mins before i remembered just how far away i was from 24hour buses, shops that stay open past 5.30pm and political correctness. I had to ask myself... "are every body's parents just that little bit racist?".  I jest of course.  My mum treated me like royalty.  She would show me off to all her friends, and in turn they would gasp and then fall silent as i regaled them in fanciful tales about living in "that there London".

All the pubs up there are wonderful traditional pubs with row upon row of real ale.  The food served was/is very tasty and since everyone knows everyone else service is always friendly.  I will say though, i am not an old man, and while the experience was charming, i grew ever weary of the fact that i was a clear 20 years younger than everyone in the room.  On the Friday night i caught a glimpse through the window of a pair of attractive legs attached to a tiny black dress walking toward the centre of the town.  Where was she going?  I couldn't help notice that were other people walking the same way, looking like they too were planning to drink lots, dance wildly and probably fall asleep in their clothes, as appose to crowd i was currently mingling with who were drinking lots, sitting comfortably and would probably fall asleep any second!

Alas, i never did ask my Mum where the cool kids hang out.  I couldn't, and i dare say i wouldn't, ditch my Mum in favour of standing in a crowed bar, with shitty music, blasting out over a meat market of a dance floor... hmmm... maybe i am old?

Take care buddy,
Yours,
Little Dave