It's the booze, I remember thinking to myself as I walked home from the pub last night.
Which is interesting really, because I'm not entirely sure now what the it in question actually was. I wasn't anywhere near drunk, in fact I'd made sure I limited my alcohol intake to a small amount. Nor had anything actually happened during the evening that I was reflecting on, that I might feel any need to blame on any amount of booze. It had been a more than pleasant evening spent watching a couple of bands play, whilst slowly supping away at my beer.
So I'm led to wonder if it was in fact a general sense of tiredness and boredom with alcohol which was coming to the fore.
I've had a few travels during the week as part of my time off work, and one place I was very pleased to visit was the small village that is Cromford, which is very scenic. I have memories of passing through there on Sunday afternoons as part of family excursions during childhood. Also in my late teens and early twenties I used to drive out there on spring and summer afternoons with a friend who lived in the vicinity, when we still hadn't gotten over the novelty of smoking extremely strong French cigarettes whilst talking about art and music.
We used to spend a lot of time in the bookshop there, it's one of the nicest places you can visit: a real cornucopia. I didn't get the chance to go in there the other day, but it was enough to see that the place was still there and to take this photograph.