Well, I made it back home. Still not worked out how to connect my computer to my mum’s internet thingy yet, so any time I want to send emails or do this kinda stuff, I’ve been sat in a pub. Feels slightly weird to be blogging in a pub. I can try and kid myself that I’m some sort of modern day Hemingway or Kerouac or something, but it isn’t gonna convince me; I’m just a speccy dude with a MacBook Pro getting odd looks from the locals.
Coming home is always an odd experience. Every time I’m here, more and more things have changed, and it feels less and less like my hometown.
And, seemingly, you can’t have a conversation without people mentioning the “bloody” illegal immigrants. Sadly, my hometown now feels like I’m living in a real life copy of the Daily Mail.
But, no matter how much I sneer and chuckle at Lincoln, it’s still my hometown, and if you were to slag it off, we’d have a problem, pal.
In the next few days I’ll be taking some photographs to introduce you to the wonders of this tiny, nothing town in the middle of nowhere.
Gotta go now, cos there’s a bloke with unfortunate hair sat quite near me, and he’s finger-snapping along to Bon Jovi’s “Please Come Home For Christmas”…