I've noticed the flesh wounds scattered around my bedroom now, but when I awoke some hours ago, I found there were leaves still tangled in my hair, as if I'd been sleeping in a forest.

The secret passageway still twinkles with fairy-lights and bloody hand-prints on leaves, but the zeppelin has flown away. The television is looking normal again after watching fragments of last year's party at 5am, and triffid-vision is no longer an option - the green mat that shielded the screen, as if triffids might sprout at any moment has been removed. Music for plants has stopped playing. The green whip hangs from a wardrobe now. The mashed up triffid lime cordial jelly with kiwifruit and grapes, made in a flower-shaped mould has all been eaten, but there is a little bit of rosewater jelly left. The neon balloons are more like turned-off neon, but perhaps they always were. Blindfolds have been removed. The pass-the-parcel with body parts, mechanical plants, sherbet dib-dabs, and forfeits that involved sending love-letters to zombies has been destroyed. My arm is still covered with blood from the 1980s though.

Thank-you for coming, triffids and the undead.


Mar. 28th, 2007 03:17 pm
York Minster
York Minster
The smell of chocolate drifts around York, between the city walls and the snickelways and through the Shambles, the Shrine of Margaret Clitherow and the birthplace of Guy Fawkes.

Last year, I visited Hull for the first time and found that the overwhelming scent of cocoa filled the air there also (even if it is said to be more sinister). I wonder how many other towns there are that smell of chocolate as you roam the streets? I imagine there must be lots of other chocolatey towns and villages, that I am unaware of and do not even vaguely suspect.

In York, I ended up searching for drinks (to take to [livejournal.com profile] renegade_badger's party) in the Evil Eye Bottle Shop. Inside the shop were tiny bottles of absinthe and a variety of cigars, beers of many flavours and a cobwebbed and dusty bottle of Rochester Rum and Raisin. One of the bottles had two stickers, each containing the words "forever changes" and different prices, but later I felt the need to stick the labels on my arm as a reminder to myself.
I shot down a helicopter with a party-popper.


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