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The wasteland

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The wedding I went to last night featured one of the most tantalising best man’s speeches ever. It centred around a story that the best man kept promising was the most compromising story ever… but he never actually told it. Apparently he told it to a smaller audience later, but by the time I got around to asking him, he was so drunk that he had a paper lantern on his head for a hat. I didn’t think I’d get a very satisfying narrative out of that.

This morning, I killed time with my friend A, chatting and exploring the area around my Holiday Inn.  A and I discovered a strange wasteground, with abandoned lorries, beach-like sand dunes and unidentifiable concrete objects. Ipswich, land of mystery.

I spent a little while writing a note on the hotel notepaper pretending to be an alien planning to take over Ipswich, but I decided against leaving it to be found in the room. Though still, part of me would love to cause a War of the Worlds-style panic one day.

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