This trip has already been filled with so many amazing sights, sounds, and… drinks. The average human is 57 percent water, right, but I would say for the average Englishman/woman it's all hops and barley, baby. Beer. By four in the afternoon the pubs are packed. Not a seat in the house. And it's rare to see someone alone. I remember the olden days at the Bahi Hut when no one but R.J. would be at the bar before 10 pm, and whether you knew him or not you would be sharing stories about High Gravity or your favorite beach spot over a Mai Thai before 7pm rolls around. While random meetings with old RJ at the Bahi are dear to my heart, the pub culture over here is really endearing. It's a place to come and share a drink as a community. A meeting of the minds. Like the Four Winds was supposed to be. Luckily my friend Joe has been kind enough to let me join his gang of true blues. They are some gooduns'.
I'm still getting adjusted to the cold and wet. I had a rough day a few days ago. I was supposed to meet a friend at a bar by the university here. I planned about a half an hour of travel time; for me to wait for the bus, possibly miss my stop, and then try to find out meeting place. It seemed like I had a reasonable cushion of time. To make a long story short, after a late bus, broken bus, another bus stop, and a misunderstanding of meeting times I was cold, wet, and a real crank-muffin. Soon to be exacerbated by getting "TV sitcom" soaked by a bus as it drove past us walking on the sidewalk. I didn't think that the dirty-road-water-waterfall actually happened. But, it does. Without abandon.
Yesterday I went on a couple camera adventures. Here is some of the booty I collected will out in the great Manchester wilderness.
Yes, this is the sun: Rare Find.
MOSS!!!!
We went to the Edge and back. Here are the pictures to prove it. There aren't any in the photos, but on the way here though this little suburb there are just sheep walking around and grazing. So wild. So raw.
This "cheeky" Englishman keeps following me around and photo bombing all of my shots.
Joe, what a kook. What a tour guide.
Folk lore states that this is where Merlin hangs out. Supposedly, Kind Arthur and his men rest in enchanted sleep in these hills and some day will wake for a great battle to save their country.
What a nerd:
And last but not least, I was told this is an actual troll house. There is a brick laid chimney and all.
The stories are all true.
Today is the day that I get to go to my residency and start making some killer art. I'm super stoked.
Next blog post will be full of paintings, drawings, and probably more weird random photos and stories.
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