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To steal something from a better writer than myself, I'm a drunk homosexual with low moral fibre.

Friday 14 November 2008

Holy Island.

A trip to Lindisfarne is in order soon I think, for research if nothing else. You introduce a murder of crows and a mid ninteenth century psychopath notorious for his metal fingers and flying-squirrel like jumping ability and you wind up in all sorts of places.

Going to have to get someone to come with me though, seems such a wasted trip otherwise. I wonder if everybody else feels so weird travelling alone?

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