The cold cuts me like a knife, a raw winter morning of windblown snow and I am stood shivering on the stone breakwater of Stonehaven harbour. My head still pounds from the alcohol of last night which I spent drinking pale ale and awkwardly trying to chat up skinny blue jeaned girls. My old parkaContinueContinue reading “Colours of our lives”
Fishy tales from the West of Ireland
Claretbumbler 