Dingle:Dunwich:Suffolk

Post frequency, so far not my specialty. So much has happened recently. Firstly, exams and my first year of university came to an end. Cue euphoric celebrations and many a day of waking at 11pm and going to sleep again as the summer heat burned through my curtains. Note: This is not healthy and will make you ache. I would not, however, swap those mornings at the suspension bridge for anything. Chasing a fox through Clifton village at 6 o'clock in the morning was, you know, weird. When it came down to it, first year delivered, and that final week was filled with a meloncholic sense of both elation and sadness, the end of an aeon. If I took one thing from that week, James' advice that bit rate is not that important was probably it.

Onwards to Dingle. After only three days apart, the 'gang' was re-united at Rosie's holiday home, Dingle. I've been to many more spectacular places, seen the himalayas, the parting of tectonic plates in Iceland, etc. but I would probably swap them all to live in Dingle with my friends.

Nothing quite compares to candle-lit, wine soaked Diplomacy sessions, whilst solving the worlds problems with clashing and intwined minds: producing mirrored/crucifix/garlic laced/silver/heart hilted super-weapons - good for all the enemies of fictional-fantastical protagonists; from medusa, through vampires, through voldemort.

Now its back to Northwich, and all its delights. Apathy, boredom and mass unemployment. If you need me i'll be painting the shed, and the pagola (sp?)

Note: If anyone who went to Dingle reads this and is feeling a highly viceral stirring of "feel-good nostalgia", comment on this post, with your thoughts and any of the priceless moments i may have omitted. ta.