Paradise lost (and found every weekend I'm at home).

They say that, what you dream about tells a lot about you. I think I must dream about all the usual guy things (except football) but there's one recurring dream I have on the road. And that's about being in my local pub. It's sad, I know. I should be dreaming about pole dancing girls and lap dancing girls (I often wonder why it is that Polish girls and those from Lapland are so big on dancing?). But no, apart from the frequent interruption of a hyperlink based algorithm, I dream about the pub!

It's the perfect haven for me on a Sunday afternoon, when a few pints of Guinness and traditional English roasts for lunch, are the order of the day.

Of all the places I go on the planet, this is right up there with the best of them. Yes, it's my local!

And this, is my son Joe, following the downing of a huge lunch of roast lamb and Yorkshire puddings, posing for what he felt would be a sympathetic photo for my blog :-)

And no, he didn't really drink it. He's only sixteen and not allowed ;-)

Cheers!