Car bound

Tear home from Liverpool (not exceeding the speed limit, obviously).

I totally deny that the return journey - without stopping off to see Antony Gormley's Another Place as planned - has anything to do with my sudden, dawning fear, the Grit Mobile has no tax and what about the MOT?

Then let this cursed blog be useful for something, like a memo to my future self: 

Grit, when you wake up and shout Oh my god I am illegal! (about this same time next year 2014), your MOT was done 13th April.

You should have got it sorted, you twerp. Now you have a lot of panicky phone calls to make, don't you?

As for Antony Gormley, well, I have come to terms with loss, over the years. It is what makes me; it is a part of my being. I have thus devised cunning ways of lying to myself, bringing loss to promise, turning opportunity from emptiness. Like, my fortune cookie which reads thus: When you leave, you should always create something incomplete. Then you can aspire to return, when there may be time and space to shape something you never could before.

Maybe see you later,  Another Place.