Just said goodbye to Lishman who’d popped over for Christmas and is now on his way to that mythical city of Tunbridge Wells.
‘Royal Tunbridge Wells,’ as Jesse said.
Like Bunbury, Surbiton and Newton Aycliffe, I don’t believe that Tunbridge Wells really exists. People just say the name instead of ‘like, wherever.’
The magazine idea is gestating healthily, and we should be online by March; we thrashed out the details over the course of a four hour Urban Trek which, as per the rules of such an undertaking, took in snow-covered fields, thronged motorways, an underpass or two, an industrial estate that smelled of cheese and onion crisps, and a 300 year old church.
We didn’t get chased by any dogs, and we weren’t accosted by knife-wielding thugs, but it was very cold, it hailstoned a bit, and the roads and paths were ice-covered, so as Urban Treks go, it was bracing.