Cuttings

'Twas Tony Hancock who lived at 23 Railway Cuttings, was it not? As I fancy myself as a bit of a hancockian figure, it's entirely appropriate that I also live along railway cuttings, though not at No 23, sadly. So here it is in all its glory.
Following my usual Sunday routine, I perambulated, circuitously taking in Avalanche records where I bought El Camino by the Black Keys which I recall was recently mentioned by a Blip connoisseur of the street.

But it wasn't all fun, naw. I also took in Melvyn's Bragg's In Our Time, about the war between Britain and the US in 1812. I just wish I'd taken my mittens and bunnet with me as it was a bloody cauld blaw listening to oor Mel.
And a major (OK, minor) disappointment - I'd bought an NZ Pinot Grigio from Waitrose, knowing that the daughter would enjoy it and I'd find it OK. Jeesus, slightly blushy and horrid. I had to wash its ghastly aftertaste away with a decent French Sauvy Blanc.
Right, weekend over! Time for... more lounging, actually!