Waterlog Reswum

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“I passed through the elegant ironwork gateway of the Henleaze Swimming Club and straight into the 1920s. The lake shone like a river by banks of weeping willows and well–kept lawns dotted with little groups of sun–bathers. It was long and deep, as though it flowed between the canyon walls of the old quarry.” The dark clouds reflect my stinking mood as the train pulls into Bristol Temple Meads. After the impish fun… Read More