Crumpsall Park, 8:15am on April 6th 2008:
I think this is the sort of thing an ordinary person might call “unexpected”, don’t you? Sure. Snow in April, in England. There’s nothing wrong with our planet.
Rather pretty though, isn’t it?
So what on earth could this be? As I believe I’ve said before, I like suspense.
Three weeks earlier and 8000 or so miles in a generally west-southerly direction, this is happening:
and so is this:
and this:
What could it all mean? Well, I’ll tell you: California. Home to internet legend VJ. See, there’s nothing wrong with travelling a long way to meet someone in person you’ve become friends with over the internet. All the cool kids are doing it.
It’s accurate to say that mischief is what we dabbled in, with a smattering of monkey business. The terrifying doll you can see above we came across in the gift shop of a native American-run casino out in the desert, somewhere, sort of. This is what the desert looks like if you’re well behaved:
Do you like it? You should, there’s a bloody lot of it. And above you can see what VJ looks like from a certain angle when she’s in this desert, artistically capturing – perhaps even catapulting – the road, so you see it’s art, not arse.
Baked beans?!! Shitting hell! Now there’s something you don’t come across so easily when mucking about with google earth while you’re supposed to be working on a spreadsheet. We’re back in Manchester now, by the way – they’re aren’t any baked beans in California. Yes, friends and family, here have I captured definitively and for all to marvel at, conclusive evidence of the mythical baked bean geysers of North Manchester.
It’s like your granny always told you but you could never really bring yourself to believe: baked beans really are a natural, renewable resource that bubble up from deep underground caverns in certain closely guarded secret gardens in and around the Crumpsall/Blackley area. Heinz have nothing to do with it.
