Reader, I bought a cut price unicycle, and have found a vintage bakelite phone I'd traded with a client a while back, I must be able to part with some of the drawer full of knives I never use, how many rucksacks do I really need? Everything must go!
But lets not get ahead of ourselves.
This one started in a hotel room in the North of England. A long time ago.
It was back in the golden age of blogging, on a pre-facebook internet. So long ago that Field and Stream was actually written by staff writers who owned muddy boots and guns, rather than fixie-riding blue-haired interns who are reluctantly rewriting things they've misunderstood from the internet, while they dream of writing for Buzzfeed.
I'd written a few blog posts, and was trying to turn my love of out-loud storytelling into a passable ability to tell them on the page. As I was lying on my skinny bed, in a hotel room used to train submariners. To my unexpected delight one of the F&S staff writers commented on this very blog, and we started an email conversation based around; our mutual belief that cartridges in the 6.5mm class are inherently wonderful, as are the the peaty malts of Islay, that Sarah Palin's candidacy was as baffling as it was alarming, and that punk rock is the appropriate soundtrack to an evening out.
11 years later....
Both of us have kids in the Uni; I'm mending rich people's central heating, and he's the face of a conservation organisation.
And there hangs a tale...
Adventure is around every corner, and the world is still full of corners
Your pal
SBW
I feel the need to comment -- after this heart-warming story, full of nostalgia and whatnot, let's talk how my comments on this very same blog brought you in contact with one of the most despicable cunts to have ever walked the earth, and how in your innocence you even friended the monster of facebook. A bit of balance, right?
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