The Garrick

The train carried us over the Egyptian bridge and the seven arches and through beautifully green Down countryside to Portadown.  It was party time at 10 a.m.  Girls were pouring Bucks Fizz into large paper cups and the bloke next to me was on a bottle of red train wine which must have cost a fortune.  I read a poundshop book on how to manifest before giving into the lilt of the accent and the train until we arrived at Lanyon Place.

I bought a cap in St george's market agin the rain that never came, gave a quid to a fat Italian busker singing Sinatra covers in Corn Market, found old Springsteen tour teeshirts in the vintage shops, a bunch of good Joseph O'Connor novels in a second hand bookshop, eschewed a 20 quid portion of fish and chips for a couple of burritos, downed a pint of stout in the Morning Star, walked 500 miles to Queen's, went round the RUA exhibition on the edge of the Botanical gardens, walked another 500 miles back to Lanyon Place and then another 500 to Great Victoria Station, weaving round the pedal bike beer keg hen parties.....