My ‘surrogate nomad‘ tends to go off on rather strange trips, and thinks it is funny to ask me where I have been immediately when they return home. Even the menacing laser look doesn’t seem to stem the flow of nonsense from the failed comedian…
So, the best I can do is curl up and dream of exotic places based on the incoherent mutterings of the ‘resident worker bee‘ with these destinations attributed to me despite the fact I haven’t left home. Forgive me on this occasion for dreaming of life in The Hamptons… the exclusive summer home of wealthy Manhattan cats amongst others. Exotic food immediately comes to mind, after all what am I supposed to do with this nouveau plastic cuisine?
Meanwhile, my ‘culinary torturer‘ is happily socialising with fabulous company in somewhere called Dangs Vietnamese Restaurant
I am dreaming of a dramatic and welcoming skyline…
… but then find I am engaged in a bit of the cognitive dissonance thing, as the best Cardiff can offer is the dreaming spires of the Millenium Stadium:
But this is nothing compared with the reports from the ‘lost wanderer‘ who speaks of such a warm welcome in The Hamptons, only for the dominant vision to be one of a prominent middle finger to the world!
My dream comes to an unexpected close with the realisation that the middle finger is the iconic message from middle England… I had been vaguely remembering that my primary ‘comfort provider‘ had droned on about visits to Southampton in recent months, and was now returning from Northampton… it was all a bit Hamptons-lite in the end!
Until we speak again I intend being an inquisitive Juno, wondering what Northampton has that keeps my so-called ‘intelligent one‘ returning for the last 17 years.