This weekend I’ve been staying in Torquay. The weather’s been suspiciously perfect for it and it’s been lovely. When I checked into the B&B I was confronted by this accurate metaphor for life at the bottom of the stairs:
I’m on the top floor, but it wasn’t too hard a climb to my room. I’m still trying to reach success, but I live in hope.
I’ve also been reliably informed by this next sign that I’m not allowed to catch my own dinner. I’m tired of being held back by all the damned rules, man.