I live in an amazing city, by all accounts we were once a thriving hub of music arts and liberation, shabby, yes, crusty, sometimes.
I noticed gradually as the venues closed down, the price of a pint skyrocketed close to the £5 mark, the advent of Facebook had meant that I started to feel I was actually becoming quite quite isolated, digitally standing in the corner of a party no one invited me to.
Maybe, this relationship has run its course, I wont lie, I have flirted with the idea of escaping to the country ever since I first saw River Cottage, I think that's fair enough, obviously, there is something oh so romantic about running away from the cruel city, raising a smallholding and ending my relationship with the rat race.
Certain realities must be faced, eloping to, say, the South of France on paper sounds wonderful, however I have read 'A year in Provence' and I can imagine myself struggling for the French for "help my toilet is overflowing with rats" or crying when the Mayor explains to me that due to being a British, two gentlemen will be coming to beat me senseless steal my house and urinate foracbly on my face, Merci.
So assuming the struggle of moving in the first place will be challenge enough, lets agree English must be spoken in this country freely, almost by accident I chose Wales, specifically Snowdonia.
Price has been a great factor, honestly seeing a four bedroom house for under £100k is a staggering delight, access to a high speed rail link to London is nice too, I might want to return to see live music from some god awful American rock band or go clubbing at White Mink, Im a strange lad.
In short, Brighton I cant say when the magic started to wear off, the burnt birdcage on the beach, I still find you beautiful, but in old age this lady has become crazy, tiresome and sometimes just plain annoying
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