I will be less hung over tomorrow; or rather today by the time I have posted this; by walking home from the Dog and Gun, via the Brown Bull, by way of the illegally (in my opinion) bottom, blocked by steep ramparts, part of Dorset Street. I only fell down a few times, and was hardly hurt at all. I am resolved now (Drunken resolutions are only guaranteed whilst the proclaimer is awake) to go back with the slaters hammer and the massive axe edged hammer (ethanol is denying me the knowledge of the correct name) and cut a gap in the rampart. No notification of closure was ever posted, and I still need to walk that way.

Today (soon to be yesterday, but 23rd June regardless) is St John the Baptist’s Eve (as written about on this blog). The night my mother’s village in Karelia, Finland, set fire to their fishing boats before their feast day.

I went to watch the sunset and think about the day (rather than watch the Solstice sunset and think of a day following). The local secondary school (with a reputation on a par with North Korea) have a new building which makes watching a sunset difficult, and the clouds were against any view regardless.

In the Brown Bull I got talking to folk I’d talked to before, including the lass who shocked her husband by admitting to me, and the pub, that she had fiddled the meters for the whole estate. In the midst of this a bloke asked me where I was froom, and commented on my accent. After a bit I asked him straight Do you want a fight or wot?l Which nonplussed him. He asked for support, but the 4 I were stood with all said He’s alright!

Just for my own memory I need to remember June talking about dressing up in white to go out, and looking like a panda on account of being breyed, and knowing she’d be breyed again, but the folk as saw her, or the blokes rather, taking strong action because of her publicly displaying her injuries (all of this paragraph is, of course, written as if I am on a Radio 3 talk programme. It was much funnier the way ~I heard it.).

I have just checked m knees, and there is no blood, or rents in my trousers, so I escaped Dorset Street without a visible mark. I did not see any creatures of the night either, but whilst I am up I ain’t gonna look fer oles.
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