Anyone who follows either or both of us on any social media will be privy to the fact that our January was a blur of white wine, Call Lane and nuggets. We went into 6th gear on holiday mode and entered February feeling poor, dehydrated and feely. CUE THE ZEN.
We eased ourself into this new life of balanced chakras and green shit with Tropical World, but ended up bog eyed in Fibre taking advantage of 241 drinks with da baby. So we can call that effort pseudo zen life. God loves a trier.
Yorkshire Sculpture Park is basically a field with bits of metal in it. Loads of squiggly abstract bits of art that I don’t really understand. I think I’d have enjoyed wandering round the place just as much if the sculptures weren’t there. To be fair we only explored about 1/10th of the place but when we discovered that there are actually 500x acres to get involved with we’d already paid for parking and were ready to bail.
This is no place for white Converse people. Mine were subjected to hassle they didn’t fucking need and are now awaiting 1x rendezvous with the washing machine. I do get dead excited in wide open spaces though and run through all kinds of mud no danger so I’ve only got myself to blame.