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Day 3: Mummy said I never should (book a holiday without first consulting her)


I've literally booked to stay in a ghost town. As my dear not-wife has just proffered, it looks like a clickbait article for what a grand place looks like after an apocalyptic abandonment. It's darn creepy, I'll try upload the video of said pool with eerie Christmas hymns playing in the background.

And yes, we've learned something here. Heed Mummy's advice, as even at 30 it's still quite possible to bollocks it all up. Royally.

My waking thought was 'Fuck, how is Christmas dinner going to go? Will there be one?'
I feel silly now for snubbing the M&S dinner that was the alternative, thinking if I wasn't going to cook my own I may as well go abroad. They'll make a fuss of it won't they? At least some part of the day there'll be a sit down meal, I'm over the fact there'll be no pigs in blankets, was hardly expecting Yorkshires, but being half board if breakfast is as catastrophic as the last 2 days, Small will be loading up in festive McDonalds. And I'll be damned if I don't find her some ice cream SOMEWHERE...

Hence the walk around the complex, a last resort attempt to try and find some silver lining in this wonderful mistake. And I find this.



Sheffielders, anyone recall that period of time where Castle Market was closed but the signage and stalls were still there? Loaded with the memories of a time passed, ghosts of a once thriving community whispering in the background over heavy shelves and bowed canopies. I'm there, right there now. Makes me think of what Meadowhall will look like in the year 2086, without the robots.

Though speaking of, I've come to notice a distinct overstock of mannekins. The rush of arrival and midnight food hunting oversaw this detail at the time, but now with all the time in the world to appreciate the environment, I truly See. All the air of an upmarket department store with all the pizazz of a pandemic. Tinsel though, every cloud.


These guys are everywhere. The reason I haven't really ventured downstairs on an evening, fancy bumping into one of these in the dark, bristling nerves to match the tinsel they're adorned with.

I feel like I'm knee deep in ethnographic study of Fukishima. Timeless abandon.

My dear Dutch friend Henny spoke of renting a bicycle to explore, possibly even to his in the next village, possibly for Koffee and Kaas, but in the absence of his mobile number I can only leave a 1471 in Sheffield. But exploring could be interesting, what exactly, I'm unsure of. 

We're still sans Paw Patrol. This is hellish.

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