Our jaunt to Wrabness,

Or as Beth aptly said: one boy and his boat...

Although I daresay reviving a personal blog  for fourth time that goes largely unread is probably tantamount to flogging a virtually dead horse -- no cyber pun intended -- I find myself unwilling to call time of death. Precisely how much this owes to my gaining a sudden surge of inspiration, I am afraid I cannot say -- but for the meantime, there is life in her yet.

All things said,  my newly rekindled enthusiasm will likely be squandered on posts detailing the antics of 2010. Any accounts of such antics are born of my excessively nostalgic nature, combined in equal parts with the fact that society dictates the days preceding New Years Eve ought to be set aside for reflection....

Apologies in advance.

However, first for a little bit of history. Although four months might ordinarily have felt like nothing, time of little consequence, the lifestyle shakeup which University necessitates has damaged my perception of time. Subsequently, such summer antics as our three day jaunt to Wrabness and Y-Not festival belong to in a different epoch, it feels. It was a fantastic summer, by all accounts -- and one which I undoubtedly won't forget, but with hindsight I can see that there are tears that have gone uncried, in a situation that I am guilty in escalating. I expected too much, gave too little and in my inconsistent mood reaped exactly what I feared. These are wounds that I sustained, which only affected my pride -- what grieves me most, is the loss of a valuable friend, whom I still love as such. It is with complete honesty, that I say I wish I had managed to prevent losing you as my friend, but I was too bitter.

These photos herald the entrance of a happier tone to this otherwise overly reflective post--  filling me with something approaching warm fuzzies (of the friendship sort, which I am familiar with, not the kind reserved for excessively romantic novels, which I am currently experiencing for unrelated reasons...)

I digress... Wrabness exemplifies the low tech but extremely fulfilling means by which we kept ourselves entertained over the 2 month long summer holiday.  Not even driving in excess of 500 miles in the course of four days, nor the incessant rain, put a dampener on my spirits. Boats. Kayaks. Monopoly. Losing Alistair Hopson. Lethal cocktails. A dearth of sunshine. Squabbling over the best beds. Pub dinners. Wetsuits and life jackets. Nicknames. Bonfires. Flip flops. Communal cooking. Gin and tea cups. Moonlight conversations. Resisting a model of life, which I don't prescribe to. Sunrises seen through sleep laced eyes. Hot chocolate. Laughter. Feeling insignificant in the grander scheme of things, counter-cultural almost and fulfilling no role in society -- but feeling supremely happy.

Summer was a glorified eight week bender, for all intents and purposes, but it will be nigh on impossible to beat. Steeped in memories.

All photos courtesy of Bethany Lloyd,
 as I didn't take my camera with me.

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