I’m starting to think that greasy spoon cafes and heart attacks might actually correlate. Positively. For the second time in two days I’ve found myself sitting among the locals in a cafe listening to them discussing the time a friend/family member collapsed. In the cafe. That time the ambulance ‘ad to be called…
This time it was someone’s mum, having took a funny turn after taking one of those pills from that Holland and Barrett. Last week. Either she had it mixed in with one of the many fried eggs in her Full English or the shock of trying to ingest something healthy made her body to say NO. She were as red as a lobster.
I could have powered an eco-bus with the spare oil on my haddock and chips.
All I want now is pasta and a warm shower. I think I might go home tomorrow despite the lack of the latter. The north west is like another country and while a lot of the people are friendly, I don’t fit in. Lesbian Hair aside, I have honestly never seen so many teenage mothers, bright white trainers and Nike twinsets. No jeans here.