Reality is a construct, but this cold I’ve had? That was very, very real. I’ve finally emerged from the duvet fortress, armed with some herbal supplements and my trusty Tascam, to go for a bit of a ramble. And by ramble, I mean both the physical act of walking through the mud and the mental act of talking absolute nonsense into a microphone.
I’m currently perched in a tree—don’t ask, it felt right at the time—somewhere about a mile and a half from civilisation. It’s freezing, I’m wearing a shacket (it’s a shirt, it’s a jacket, it’s a revolution), and I’m pondering the big questions. Like, why am I becoming less of a hermit as I get older? Why are there still unexploded bombs from the 40s lurking under Great Yarmouth? And would the Pearly Kings really be that offended if they just used a hot glue gun instead of sewing all those buttons?
It’s a bit of a look at mental health, the peace of the Norfolk/Suffolk wilderness, and the strange things you think about when you see a bloke with a metal detector. Come join me for a freezing cold natter in the woods.
","author_name":"Carl Guyton"}