The trouble with family visiting from the old continent is that they leave you in a worse state than they found you. Since mother and middle sister left, I've found myself exploring a morbid fascination for YouTube interviews with Morrissey , wearing my late father's sports jacket around the house and pining to, of all things, go rambling (here, crossing somebody's land is likely to land you with a cap in your harris at the very least ). Heaven knows I'm miserable now.
Wistful reflections, petty glories.