I am at my desk. Tired stinging eyes. Mountains of washing surrounding me. Mountains of books to be read.
I shut my eyes and remember the perfectist of perfect weekends. Scottish singletrack, Lake District logs and climbs, berms and roots. Sunshine and snow. We had it all. No music on the road trip, just laughter and chatting and sleeping and weird ways of eating apples. And Mint Sauce jersies and babies and hugs and fruit loaf and sliced cheese and puffy fingers and broken chains and dusty trails.
Did I mention the snow?
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