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Coastalissueducking

I suppose that I should be tackling the issues of the day, in fact I'm certain that many of you would deem it remiss of me if I were to allow the entire G8 diploma-fandango pass without mention.

So there it is.

In other news the world of coastalblog continues to wobble uncertainly on its axis but continue on a vaguely upward trajectory. There are a whole bunch of professional issues extant which it is unwise to discuss on here, there are also an enormous bunch of family issues extant which I am unwilling to talk about on here. So, remove those factors from the equation of my existence and a large proportion of its current structure is excised (hah, I originally typed "id excised"). So what have we left?

Well, I've been cooking and writing up a storm recently (I've started baking again, which I suspect may well be a comfort thing. I don't think I've made scones in about twenty years), the reading continues apace. All good. It was also excellent to get out to Manchester last night for Hungarian bleeps and what have you at the Font, brought to you by the estimable Lynskey. I learned several things from this evening, notably that I don't think I'll ever make a club promotions girls (I haven't the breasts for it I'm afraid). Then, after a characteristic Ormkirk cock-up Jimmy, Robin and myself were left hanging around Salford Quays waiting for Robin's Mum to come and rescue us (I know, I know, I'm 27). A million thanks to Alex and Catherine, wine will be coming soon. The bonus part of this, of course was that Jim and I hadn't seen the structure before and were duly impressed (not least by the hidden sensors which cheerily reminded us in a pleasant baritone that for their customer's safety, smoking was not allowed. Holy shit, I thought, I'm living in the future). So, y'know, every cloud.

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