Serious Lancashire

Manic day. We bipolar types know full well that this is just the flip side of something very nasty indeed, but we know equally that you must enjoy it while you've got it. For the first time for ages slept in something like a proper configuration - 2-10 a.m. Woke up feeling like death and damnation, but medication soon fixed that. Then drove out into the Trough of Bowland for a proper walk - planned, of course, to end up at a pub. Of course the Ordnance Survey maps can still leave one utterly scunnered - but if you get off the proper path and into someone's farm, they don't yell "Get off my land!" - indeed, that would not work, as in this phrase the word "off" is normally pronounced "orf" and they don't do that in Lancashire - but ask you where you're trying to get to and give you sensible directions, while politely suggesting that one ought to be wearing heavy-duty wellingtons, which I knew already, but there was nothing patronising about the comment. And looking puzzled while contemplating a map in a Lancashire village will get you a friendly enquiry as to whether or not one is lost, rather than a triumphalist splash from a gutter puddle. Why the flying fuck anyone wants to live in London is a mystery to me, except for those who seem to think it is compulsory. Listen, ladies and gents. It is possible to get laid outside the Congestion Charge zone. It really is. I know