Purveyor of Tall Tales.

Stig of the Dump and Queen of the Night

So I’m back from Staffordshire.

I didn’t get to Lichfield in the end, after a six hour journey through some of the worst traffic known to man we just about had enough energy to drag ourselves to a guest house in Stafford and then to the curry house before flumping into bed.

The next day I had planned to spend some time writing but somewhere along the line instructions had been issued and we had to be at the hamlet that was hosting the wedding by 1. At the point we got there L’s partner M and myself were pretty much surplus to requirements and so there was a lot of standing around looking like security.

The wedding had a fantastic amount of effort and attention to detail put into it. The Bride and Groom seemed to have a good time before leaving at speed on a tandem bicycle…it was an interesting event not least because the Vicar appeared to be Hugh Dennis and the MC Michael Rapaport.

G as ever cut a gorgeous figure in a purple silk dress and I did my usual job of looking completely scruffy in spite of the suit. The subject line pretty much sums up our look.

Today we took a leisurely trip back to London stopping for G to take some photos of a power station that loomed – Isengard like – over the horizon belching a huge column of grey smoke into the air. Then, unable to resist it, we stopped in Wall.

Yes Ladies and Gents I have been to Wall.

It was this tiny village/hamlet just outside Lichfield that has a lovely church atop a hill complete with Victorian graveyard and then at the base of the hill a small Roman ruin where G ran amok once more with the camera. I tried to look cool in the shots she took of me but mostly I think I look constipated.

And now we’re back. Apparently I should be raring to go after a weekend in the country but I must confess I’m shattered. Still, I’m sure all that country air will kick in any second now.

I’ll just have a lie down until it does…

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