One thing you should potentially never mix is children and cliffs. Well, unless you are the Pied Piper and intend to drown aforementioned children at bottom of aforementioned cliffs. Whilst I can’t particularly say I cared about where they pranced, seeing some of my lab kids frolicking at the edge of the abyss wasn’t a most pleasant experience.
Yet most stories have a beginning – unless you drank a bit too much of that nice Irish cider and can’t really remember how you got in a particular pub or situation, moment in which beginnings are not fussed over. One of the very exciting days of the Forum is Trip Day! No work, no chains, just freedom. Of sorts. So we climb on a bus and let it take us to places we only dreamt of (a bit of exhageratiion, really. Ireland isn’t that exotic, and what I dream tends not to be PG13).
Here. A castle. Near marshes.
Here. Some children. Near cliffs.
A gentle harp filled the background with glorious, life changing music. I was ready for a Kraken to appear, to fight to save the world, the music more than appropriate for such a glourious feat. Instead, me and the jew just sat down on a piece of rock and had a pre-packaged picnic, with apples, low-quality sandwhiches and a bar of chocolate. Somehow, the music seemed appropriate for that as well.
And so our story ends, with no slaughter or krakens or children lost along the way, with just 3 sets of pictures and a cheap, short story to make you click on my blog post. This is how Jodi Piccoult must feel.
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