Trying Too Hard To Intellectualise The Place I Call Home.

I had the pleasure of using public transport today, not often I get this treat but it is a time to reminisce back to when I didn't drive and how I achieved large levels of reading on public transport. Something I miss while driving, apparently ruled unsafe.

So, imagine my joy, being a fan of English romantic poets that when I went to disembark off the bus, I passed a woman sat in her seat, who on the back of her neck had had tattooed, in what I imagine she thinks elegant hand writing looks like, because that is what makes neck tattoo's look good obviously, the words, 'Byron's Bitch'. Now, living in the district where Lord Byron was bought up and had his ancestral home, Newstead Abbey and also not more than 7 miles from the Church where his grave is, although all that is buried there is his reclaimed heart. I thought to myself that, apart from the language, the tattoo was a great way for her to publicly demonstrate her adoration to, arguably, England's finest 19th Century poet.

We need more of this. 

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