Last night was an evening that reconfirmed what I love about Bath. Few places are so beautifully transformed by a good summer. The essence of the place is such that a disused parking lot outside a Gala Bingo hall is somehow revealed (denatured by sunlight) as one of the most comfortable places on Earth. I was satisfied enough that the bar which supplies this place in the sun serves Corona with a slice of lime, but the realisation that it now also sells fine pizzas for under a fiver added last night to the great list-in-the-sky of perfect, warm, heartening evenings that I’ve spent getting slowly drunk with friends.
We’d had one of those all-day meetings about games that makes PC GAMER such a pleasure to work for. We all shout at Kieron, he shouts at us, and then we all shout at each other. Someone says something rude about Ross’ taste in beardiness and everyone is happy. Games are enjoyed and Deus Ex is exulted and insulted. I didn’t leave a pubside outside-seating arrangement for nearly twelve hours. I’m not saying that this is the only reason to be a freelance writer. But it is a reason.
Yeah, summer in the valley is going to be sweet. I have a sun-trap of a garden and a fridge full of beers. I’ve also just managed to cook up a near-perfect rump steak, served with some fresh tomatos and basil and a mustard mash. The cats are going crazy with jealousy. The sound track of the summer, I think, is going to be Robert ‘King of the Delta Blues’ Johnson, the voodoo-powered guitar man. Sold his soul for musical skills, apparently. I’d sell mine for some more of that excellent grilled beef.