Paws for thought...

Larry the kitten has taken to walking across this keyboard whenever I start to type. So, any typographic errors that follow are down to him, not me.
We went to Barton on Humber earlier this week, for reasons that I won't reveal. I'd not been since I went on a pub crawl as a 15-year-old schoolboy with my mate Wayne. The evening ended with me appealing to this semi-conscious buffoon that he really shouldn't keep doing his best to be arrested as we had a bus to catch, lest we be stranded on the south bank of the river on a cold, winter's eve. So, he got up and promptly started setting fire to and subsequently melting every yellow plastic waste bin lashed to street lamps he could find. Bizarrely, after his extremely eye-catching and attention-seeking efforts at arson, we still managed to catch the 10.50pm back to the north bank.
So I drove through this funny little town with, ahem, fond memories of happy, carefree days, wondering what the 'eck Wayne's up to these days. Then we called in to the Ropewalk Gallery, a place I've written about a lot in the past but never got round to visiting. What a staggeringly lengthy Grade II listed building and a wonderful space for creative sorts. Must go back. But not, alas, with Wayne.

For those that like a boring read about music (did I learn nothing from the lyrics of Billy Joel's It's Still Rock 'n' Roll To Me?), I've posted lots of nice, if boring, reviews on my other boring blog, now boringly christened [re]view from Hull. Enjoy. Or be bored.