horns of wilmington's cow

By anth

Northern Soul

North is a state of mind. North is an existence justified simply by being. North is not Birmingham. North cannot be attained simply by following a compass point for 3 hours. North likes tea with plenty milk and three sugars instead of a skinny frappucinno with wings. North eats baps and stotties and barms and rolls and butteries. North is Greggs. North has good lovin' by the truckload. North wonders why straight talking is considered rude and why open sincerity is viewed with suspicion. North doesn't think it's superior. North knows it's superior, but doesn't wish to wallow in conceit. North was brought up on a sidestreet. In the North 'blue sky thinking' is 'let's get to the beach, the sun might not last'. North embraces the cold air (often in short sleeves) and the warm heart and hearth. North says 'hello' to someone it hasn't met before. North buys a pint for someone it met half an hour ago. North kicks the head in of someone it bought a pint for half an hour ago. North is value and loyalty. North will pull you in if you grab the rope. North rolls its own. North has an undecipherable but charming accent. North is where there be dragons. North is... me. I'm a soul man. Do do do. Do do do.

(Camera lens wasn't waiting at the post sorting office this morning as promised by the card left yesterday - okay, so the card said they tried delivery at 9.45am and I should wait 24 hours but I had to be at work again before that time and I thought 7.45am still gave them 22 hours to get the box back there. It 'depends on when he gets back to the post office and when it's open' allegedly. And since the sorting office closes very usefully at midday I'll have to wait till tomorrow morning now)

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