<\/p>\n
Taff Up-Over part 4<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Sunday:<\/span><\/p>\n We got back to Llanelli without too many hassles, although my nostalgia dial was still set at 11 all the way back. We picked up some nice easy vege-meals at Tescos\u2019, one of these was Tesco\u2019s own ready-made colcannon, which was gorgeous, especially when served with Quorn bangers and gravy. This made me rather envious as we don\u2019t get anything like that quality of vege ready meals in Oz. So we went and decamped at me Mam\u2019s place, and cooked up, and stuffed ourselves.<\/span><\/p>\n Mam was in a chatty mood that night, so me and her sat up talking until gone midnight, and very nice it was too.<\/span><\/p>\n The next day, LeeAnne and Bethy decided to go down to the beach and hire some cycles to do a bit of the coastal cycle trail there. I was going to stroll around the neighbourhood and wax lyrical and poetical about my youth to myself in my sub-Dylan Thomas, prosaic, style. Pointless I know, but fun. Well at least I enjoy it.<\/span><\/p>\n Anyway, I hadn\u2019t got as far as the end of our street, when it pissed down. So I drove down to the beach to rescue my two ladies, and hunted high and low for them, only to find them snug and warm, enjoying a cuppa and the view from the cafe.<\/span><\/p>\n I managed to talk my mother into coming up to town with us for a spin. We strolled about, and changed some cash into pounds, and wandered in and out of the markets, but still no one recognised me. I\u2019m a stranger in my hometown now.<\/span><\/p>\n That evening Bethy had kindly offered to baby-sit Mam for us, so LeeAnne and I packed an overnight bag, and took a train to Swansea. We promised ourselves that, as for most of the holiday Bethy had either been sharing a room with us, or had been too close for comfort for us to have wild, uninhibited, kinky sex, we\u2019d have at least one childfree evening, and this was it. We\u2019d booked an “executive suite” in Swansea\u2019s Grand Hotel as a treat for ourselves.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span>http:\/\/thegrandhotelswansea.co.uk\/<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n I\u2019d wanted to stay at the Grand as it gets mentioned in a number of Dylan Thomas\u2019s short stories, as well as featuring heavily in another book “Freaks” which was one of those “New English Library” pulp fiction novels that were about in the 70\u2019s. (I\u2019ve still got it somewhere.)<\/span><\/p>\n http:\/\/www.trashfiction.co.uk\/freaks.html<\/span><\/p>\n We got there and booked into the room, which was plush without being ostentatious. There was a great view of Swansea; “that ugly lovely town” <\/span>(Dylan Thomas) <\/span>from our balcony, and the room had a DVD player and large screen TV. Hmmmmm, that could be useful…<\/span><\/p>\n So I told LeeAnne that I\u2019d try and get something “worth watching” for us to view on the DVD player. I checked the local yellow pages, looked under “Adult shops”, “Adult DVD\u2019s”, “Adult services” “Hardcore wank DVD\u2019s”, and “Farm supplies” seeing as we were in Wales, but nothing.<\/span><\/p>\n “I know what I\u2019ll do,”<\/i> said I, “I\u2019ll get a cab driver to take me to one, that\u2019ll work!”<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n Oh boy, here I go again…<\/span><\/p>\n So of course, seeing as we\u2019re staying in Swansea\u2019s most plush hotel, and across the road from the train station, I\u2019m bound to get a cab straight off, aren\u2019t I? Am I hell as like.<\/span><\/p>\n I waited and waited, and eventually noticed the sign to the cab rank, which was across on the other side of the station. So I strolled over. <\/span>(You have to remember that while all this is going on, I\u2019m walking bent almost double as I have a hard-on you could cut concrete with.)<\/span><\/p>\n Fortunately there\u2019s no one else at the rank. So I wait for another ten minutes, of course, for a cab to show up. Then one arrives. Driven by a woman. Bollocks.<\/span><\/p>\n So sod it, I\u2019ve been waiting long enough.<\/span><\/p>\n “Hi, I hope you\u2019re not offended by this, but you couldn\u2019t take me to an “adult” shop, could you?”<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n “Oh, there\u2019s one just down the road, on the corner of Ivey Street, just at the corner of High Street.”<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n “You wouldn\u2019t drive me there would you?”<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n “Save your money bach, it\u2019s only just down there.”<\/i> She pointed vaguely down the road I\u2019d just walked up. “It\u2019s only five minutes walk, it\u2019s a knocking shop really, but they\u2019ll have what you want.”<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n So I strolled off in the direction she had pointed, getting hopelessly lost, and wandering what the hell she had thought it was that a “knocking shop” would have that I would have wanted?<\/span><\/p>\n Anyway, after walking for an age, I found myself outside the “knocking shop”, which happened to be next door to the hotel.<\/span><\/p>\n Now call me spoiled, but I\u2019m now so used to the “Adult” shops in Oz that this one came as a surprise to me. Oz shops make no bones about what they are selling or have on offer; “Come on in and look at our huge range of wank DVD\u2019s, starting at only $5.00”<\/i> and “All sorts of interesting things you can stick up yourself, or up your friends, at bargain prices” “Come and try our new range of lubricants, guaranteed to stop you getting a sore arse!”<\/i> and such are all plainly advertised in the windows. Our favourite shop, “Adam and Eve\u2019 even has TV adverts nightly. You can wander about these brightly lit shops, and avoid the pretty and helpful staff that inevitably serve there, and browse with the other customers, and it\u2019s all very open and clean, and no one gives a flying fuck about you or what you\u2019re buying.<\/span><\/p>\n But this place was “old school”. It had blacked out windows, a seedy, grotty hallway, and nothing to intimate what was inside. I was just plucking up the courage to go in, when a guy walked out who was the spitting image of how our parents warned us we\u2019d end up looking if we masturbated too much. So I gave up the ghost, went back to the hotel.<\/span><\/p>\n LeeAnne and I then spent a very cosy thirty seconds or so in the bar downstairs before rushing back to the room.<\/span><\/p>\n And the rest of the day and night we\u2019ll draw a discrete veil over….<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Monday:<\/span><\/p>\n The next morning we got up late and went down for breakfast. I don\u2019t think the waiter believed that a scruffy looking shite like me was staying in the executive suite, so he double-checked our room ID. Tosser.<\/span><\/p>\n We got ourselves together and got all the way across the road to find that we\u2019d missed our train by ten minutes, and that we\u2019d an hours wait for the next one.<\/span><\/p>\n We got back to Llanelli, visited Wynn, Jac, Bron and Dyl, briefly, mainly to apologise for being unable to stay the day with them, and to say good bye. Shopped about for bangers and pies. Went back to my mothers house, cooked and crashed.<\/span><\/p>\n And that was Monday. <\/span>(A night of hot sex can really take it out of you at my age.)<\/span><\/p>\n Tuesday:<\/span><\/p>\n Saying a sad farewell to my mother, and promising to return in two years or so. (And boy was it a strange emotion that that engendered.) We drove off. We stopped off at the Tesco\u2019s and filled up with snacks for the long journey ahead.<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019ll take this opportunity to say sorry to all my mates in Llanelli, who we\u2019d promised to have another night out with on our return to the town, but time tide, and my inevitable cock-ups wait for no man, and Bethy was due for her treat, seeing as I\u2019d had mine.<\/span><\/p>\n We drove out of Wales passing, Swansea, the very beautiful Port Talbot, the capital Cardiff, the wonderful Castell Coch, and out over the Severn bridge. Bye-bye Wales.<\/span><\/p>\n We headed off up the M5 following the Welsh borders, passing Birmingham, the UK\u2019s second largest city, and the city which only has one redeeming feature; Edgebaston. We were heading into uncharted territory for me as well as the other two, I\u2019d never visited this corner of the UK before. It\u2019s got no real mountains or cliffs, so why would I have?<\/span><\/p>\n We eventually got to our destination; Alton Towers.<\/span><\/p>\n http:\/\/www.alton-towers.co.uk\/themepark\/<\/span><\/p>\n It was a real surprise to find the place. After driving through the sort of countryside that really did make you feel like singing;<\/span><\/p>\n “Oh, to be in England And after April, when May follows, we arrived at the village of Alton, a tiny hamlet of beautiful, old-brick, cottages, true rural idyll. Boy, must they have been pissed off when the UK\u2019s biggest theme park was built next door or what?<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0Having worked in a Theme park, and being something of a snob and elitist, I am normally quite disdainful of the sheer bloody awful tackiness of these places. They seem to cater to all that is lowest common denominator, naff, rubbish and ugly, with their vacuous, safe, “thrill”, rides, their grease and sugar catering, and their scamming of money from the stupid and unimaginative. Having said that, and after seeing the rides a couple of times, I did want to go and have a go on them, so yah-boo-sucks at me then.<\/span><\/p>\n We saw the rides more than once, as we had got on the monorail train which traverses around the park, and no one had told us when to get off. How were we to know it was a circular ride? Anyway we found where we wanted, the Cariba water park, and after spending in excess of my mortgage on three tickets, we went in.<\/span><\/p>\n http:\/\/www.alton-towers.co.uk\/waterpark\/<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Now me and water parks get on like someone who is terrified of water gets on with a big theme park full of water related activities. But I stuck it out, and Bethy was having so much fun that I couldn\u2019t begrudge her the 300-mile drive, the expense of getting in, and the cost of cleaning my swimming costume. So we stayed there all the day, and Bethy had great fun.<\/span><\/p>\n Not having booked anywhere to stay, we drove off eventually with the “joire-de-vivre” of those that know wherever they chose to stay they are going to regret it, so why worry?<\/span><\/p>\n It was getting dark by now, and we were getting worried that a night in the car was looming, when we passed a cheery looking pub, the “Royal Oak” at Mayfield. “We\u2019ll try here;” said I.<\/span><\/p>\n http:\/\/www.pub-explorer.com\/derbyshire\/pub\/royaloakhotelashbourne.htm<\/span><\/p>\n So we went in, and a rather harassed young lady told us we could have rooms for the night. She led us up to a room, a beautiful oak beamed bedroom, which looked like the decor hadn\u2019t changed since the 1960\u2019s, or possibly the 1860\u2019s, but looked all the more fun for that. It even had a 60\u2019s B&W TV, cute. We dropped our kits, and went down stairs. “Any chance of some food?” <\/i>we asked, “sorry we don\u2019t have a chef on tonight, we\u2019re leaving here this weekend and some new people are taking it over. There\u2019s plenty of places around here to eat though.”<\/i> She then gave us directions to a pub that had “a great reputation for grub”<\/i>, directions I immediately forgot.<\/span><\/p>\n We jumped in the car and drove off, and within two miles I was lost. And it was foggy. I could hear Bethy sharpening a knife in the back, and thought she may start eating the seats, if I was lucky. Eventually we saw a sign for a pub\/restaurant. We drove through what was obviously some private parkland with deer and antelope looming out of the mist. (“They\u2019ll cook up a treat if we get even more lost,”<\/i> I thought.)<\/span><\/p>\n Go to the address below to see this wonderful little bit of god\u2019s earth.<\/span><\/p>\n http:\/\/www.ashbourne-town.com\/villages\/mappleton\/mapp.htm<\/span><\/p>\n We eventually found “The Oakover Arms”<\/span><\/p>\n http:\/\/theokeoverarms.com\/<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n I can only say that the pub was fantastic, the food glorious and well deserving of all the praise which had been written their guest book. The beer there was some of the best kept real ale (Old Hooky) I have ever had the luck to try, and I\u2019ve tried lots. I was being all self-congratulatory on finding this palace amongst pubs, when LeeAnne pointed out; “shame we didn\u2019t find this place first, what a great place to stay. I bet the breakfast would be out of this world.”<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n Bugger… and there\u2019s more to come.<\/span><\/p>\n So we got back to the other pub, and those two took themselves off to bed. I stayed down in the main bar and read for a while, and then chatted with some of the locals. I got invited into a round with two guys, Phil and Dando, and boy could those two drink? I felt like a real light-weight compared to these two. Phil was an “agricultural power assemblage maintenance technician” <\/span>(combine harvester mechanic)<\/span> and Dando was a tyre fitter. Great lads, both of whom seemed to find it odd that, having emigrated to Oz, I\u2019d ever find the need to return to the UK. Mind you, Phil admitted the furthest he\u2019d ever been in his 32 years of life was to the Royal Agricultural show, for a weekend, and he had got homesick then. Eventually, after saying goodnight, and promising them a postcard from Oz, I went up to bed myself. This was via a devious route of my own devising which took in the snug, another bar I\u2019d not seen before, the cellar, someone else\u2019s bedroom, <\/span>(fortunately unoccupied,)<\/span> and three trips back to the main bar. During one of the trips back to the bar I even found myself wandering around in the car park, desperately trying to find a way back indoors.<\/span><\/p>\n Wednesday:<\/span><\/p>\n We got up and found there was no milk for an early morning cuppa. Anyone who\u2019s spent an early morning with LeeAnne will know that not getting several cups of coffee down her, before attempting to communicate with her on a human level, can be fatal. Oh bugger.<\/span><\/p>\n Then Bethy found a note on the door from the owners apologising that they hadn\u2019t been able to get a cook to come in to make us our breakfast, and so here was a refund of some of our cash.<\/span><\/p>\n Shite.<\/span><\/p>\n So we showered, at least the water was warm, and packed up and pissed off.<\/span><\/p>\n Now as I said earlier, I\u2019ve not been to this part of the world before, and seeing it through the early morning spring mist, I found I\u2019d missed out on a lot; “The Potteries” is a truly beautiful area.<\/span><\/p>\n We saw signs for Stoke-on-Trent, and having used the city name as an euphemism for…work it out yourself.<\/i>.. for so many years, I thought it would be a good place to visit. Not only that, but there would be a good chance to get some breakfast, but more importantly to get coffee into LeeAnne before one of us (me) died.<\/span><\/p>\n So we followed the signs for the city centre, found a car park, and set off. We hadn\u2019t gone a hundred yards when we spotted a cafe. We looked at the menu in the window, it was a huge and slightly confusing menu, but we spotted a fair whack of vege options, so we went in.<\/span><\/p>\n One thing that struck me about the place was the name; “The Tontine cafe”.<\/span><\/p>\n tontine<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n n 1: a form of life insurance whereby on the death or default of a participant his share is distributed to the remaining members [syn: <\/span>tontine insurance<\/span><\/a>]<\/span><\/p>\n 2: an annuity scheme wherein participants share certain benefits and on the death of any participant his benefits are redistributed among the remaining participants; can run for a fixed period of time or until the death of all but one participant<\/span><\/p>\n The mind boggles.<\/span><\/p>\n On the menu they had “breakfast oatcake pancakes, filled with mushrooms and three cheeses”, well I\u2019ll try anything once. In fact they were yummy, and I tried them twice, greedy bugger that I am. (I was even contemplating a third go they were that good.) Bethy ordered the “full English”, LeeAnne ordered intravenous java. While we were waiting for the meals a gang of builders came in, all of whom had names ending in “a”, Dekka, Billa, Rodga, and Smakka, or at least that what it sounded like. They all ordered the “full breakfast” too, so we knew Bethy was in for a treat, when builders ask for a breakfast they don\u2019t want muesli. When it arrived it was huge, and she did enjoy every bit of it. Well nearly every bit, she balked at the “black pudding”, and who can blame her?<\/span><\/p>\n So we drove off once more, and got caught in a traffic jam that added an hour to the journey, and took some of the sheen off my newfound love of the potteries.<\/span><\/p>\n We drove down to Wiltshire. At this point I must apologise to Dan the Man, and Panorama Paul both of whom we had fully intended to meet up with while we were in this neck of the woods. Unfortunately, while we were packing we had left our telephone numbers list in Derbyshire. Sorry guys, you\u2019ll just have to come visit us instead.<\/span><\/p>\n While I\u2019m diverting myself here; I had a realisation, a revelation in fact today, which I thought I\u2019d share with you. You may or may not remember me bunnying on about how much the return to Devon had affected me this trip? Well I think I\u2019ve found the reason.<\/span><\/p>\n The other day the mother-in-law asked me to copy K. D. Lang\u2019s “Hymns of the 49 th. Parallel,”<\/i> for her. I\u2019m not a fan of the slap-headed lesbian, but I thought I\u2019d do us a copy, as maybe LeeAnne would like it. As it happens I\u2019ve warmed to it myself, even if some of her renditions are a little clinical for my taste. But there I was, listening to her version of Neil Young\u2019s “Helpless”, and these words came in to focus…<\/span><\/p>\n There is a town in north Ontario, And that for me is Devon, all my<\/b> changes were there. Taff was born aged 22 in Plymouth, and R.I.P my old self.<\/span><\/p>\n Anyway, enough of the existentialism, and back to the bollocks,…<\/span><\/p>\n We at last managed to get off the motorway, and drove through the rolling chalk downs of Wiltshire. There was something here I was sure that Bethy would love, and which would set the scene for where we were going, and fortunately I was right.<\/span><\/p>\n http:\/\/wiltshirewhitehorses.org.uk\/cherhill.html<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n The Cherhill white horse is the second oldest of the Wiltshire horses. It is situated on the edge of Cherhill Down, off the A4 Calne to Marlborough road just east of the village of Cherhill, and is just below the earthwork known as Oldbury Castle. Nearby is the obelisk known as the Lansdowne Monument. Very well placed high on a steep slope, the horse is easily visible from below and from a distance.<\/span><\/p>\n So having taken the obligatory panoramic photograph, we moved on. We soon arrived at Avebury, one of the UK\u2019s best known ancient monuments, and one that I think is far better than the \u2018Henge.<\/span><\/p>\n One of the most important megalithic monuments in Europe is spread over a vast area at Avebury, much of it under Trust protection. The great stone circle, encompassing part of the village of Avebury, is enclosed by a ditch and external bank and approached by an avenue of stones.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Well as I\u2019d only ever visited the stones of Avebury once before I was hoping memory served me well, and that Bethy and LeeAnne would find them as bloody fantastic as I had on my first visit. First things first, we went into the Red Lion Pub which is unique being the only pub situated within a stone circle.<\/span><\/p>\n http:\/\/www.bbc.co.uk\/wiltshire\/villages\/redlion.shtml<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n Fortunately they had a room for the night available, so we were able to drop off our kit, and have a wash and brush up after the journey. More than this though, we also had a room with a view out over the stones, in a pub with a good food guide recommendation, a real ale guide recommendation, and in one of the most awe inspiring places in the UK. Sorted. The room itself was superb, real “olde-worlde” stuff.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0One of the bars downstairs housed the old village well, 80 foot deep, now illuminated and covered with a glass lid. This was inscribed with the tale of how many a drunken villager had fallen down it and drowned. We thought that this legend, and the fact that they were advertising for staff to work in this “haunted pub” might scare Bethy a bit, but she loved it. (The influence of all those Harry Potter books no doubt.)<\/span><\/p>\n Here\u2019s the tale of the ghost..<\/span><\/p>\n A jealous husband returning from the English Civil War threw his wife Flori down a deep well after finding her in bed with another man. This legend haunts the Red Lion pub, with several customers and employees seeing Flori, dressed in black, walking around the pub in search of a bearded man. One eyewitness report detailed a spinning chandelier with a bearded man sat underneath. Customers have seen Flori in the ladies toilets and a previous pub landlady said the ghost of Flori hurled salt and pepper over tables and chairs. Ghostly horse-drawn carriages have been seen pulling up outside the pub, which dates back to the 16th century.<\/span><\/p>\n A load of old bollocks I know, but fun when you\u2019re ten.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I rang me Mam, just to let her know we were safe, also to get the number of my Uncle Terry and Aunty Noreen, who live locally. I managed to get through to Noreen and invited them to join us for a beer that evening.<\/span><\/p>\n Noreen and Terry aren\u2019t really my aunt and uncle, Noreen\u2019s some sort of second cousin or something to me. But they had been a big influence on me as a kid. Things like the fact that Terry had been a keen biker, and had owned some beautiful big bikes stands out in my memory. (And he still owns beautiful big bikes!) They had a car, no other bugger in my family did, and so they regularly took us for days out in the summer holidays. They had been keen to try new and different things, things as radically strange for Llanelli as Indian food, foreign holidays, moving house, bettering themselves, leaving the town, learning new things, and earning good money. These were all revelations to me as a kid. Could people from Llanelli really do that? What, even me?<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n So the three of us set off around the stones. The stones are so bloody amazing that I\u2019m not even going to begin to start to try to tell you how bloody amazing they are. You\u2019ll just have to go see for yourselves.<\/span><\/p>\n We\u2019d been strolling around for a while each step bringing gasps of awe from us as each corner revealed a new wonder, and we had decided to head on up the hill along the stone row, when someone shouted from behind us. There were bloody Terry and Noreen, stomping up the hill! So after doing the introductions we strolled on together, the three girls chatting and me and Terry swapping tales. To be fair, Noreen and Terry did most of the talking, as they can chat twenty to the dozen, neither of them have lost the accent, and they both have that Welsh knack of asking you a question, supplying the answer themselves and then moving onto the next point, all without pausing to draw breath. It was great to catch up with them both, and it was amazing that even though we moved apart twenty or more years ago, we still have loads in common, more now than ever I think, and that we could touch base on so much.<\/span><\/p>\n Terry led us around the back of the hill, along a little used path and up a steepish slope to where we could get a superb view of Silbury hill. Here you go…<\/span><\/p>\n Silbury Hill, part of the complex of Neolithic monuments around <\/span>Avebury<\/span><\/a> in Wiltshire (which includes the <\/span>West Kennet <\/span><\/a>long barrow), is the tallest prehistoric man-made mound in Europe and one of the world’s largest. On a base covering over 2 hectares (5 acres), it rises 39.6m (130ft) high. It is a display of immense technical skill and prolonged control over labour and resources. Archaeologists calculate that Silbury Hill was built about 4600 years ago and that it took 18 million man-hours to dump and shape 248,000 cubic metres (8.75 million cu ft) of earth on top of a natural hill. Every man, woman and child in Britain today could together build such a mound if they each contributed one bucketful of earth.<\/span><\/p>\n And the funniest thing about Silbury Hill is that no bugger knows why it was built; it\u2019s a complete mystery.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n So we strolled on, and chatted and caught up, and made it back down to the village. Terry and Noreen were shooting off from there, they have to keep a strict schedule on their whirlwind social life. So we said our goodbyes, and promised to keep in touch. The nice thing is though that they\u2019re coming to Oz at the end of this year, so I get to drag them up my local hills. Though if my form remains true it\u2019ll be a case of them dragging me up my local hills.<\/span><\/p>\n While Bethy and LeeAnne went back to the pub for a sit down, I strolled around the village, taking more shots of the stones, and being annoyed by bloody hippies. These gits, and there were swarms of them, places like Avebury are hippy\/nutter magnets, were hugging the stones, banging drums, playing bagpipes, chanting, waving “dream-catchers” and generally being fucking annoying twats in the way that only hippies can. Can we have an open season for hippy shooting please?<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span><\/p>\n
\nNow that April’s there,
\nAnd whoever wakes in England
\nSees, some morning, unaware,
\nThat the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
\nRound the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
\nWhile the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
\nIn England–now!!<\/span><\/p>\n
\nAnd the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
\nHark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
\nLeans to the field and scatters on the clover
\nBlossoms and dewdrops–at the bent spray’s edge–
\nThat’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
\nLest you should think he never could recapture
\nThe first fine careless rapture!
\nAnd though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
\nAll will be gay when noontide wakes anew
\nThe buttercups, the little children’s dower
\n–Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!<\/span>Oh, to be in England, Now that April’s there, And whoever wakes in England Sees some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood we arrived<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n
\n<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span><\/p>\n
\nWith dream comfort memory to spare,
\nAnd in my mind
\nI still need a place to go,
\nAll my changes were there.<\/span><\/p>\n