WhiteRabbit

There's much to be said for self medicating.
I suppose the poison should suit the malady and i'm all in favour of a quick fix.
Some choose pills, to smoke, to cut or to sleep. Some to run, stick or twist, vodka, Jack or wine.
Choose to hide or choose to stand and scream. Perversely, some to cope, and some even choose sober, conscious, vanilla, safe and warm, (which is great if you can find it).

I chose to take one fistful of CBR up over the hills where nobody knew I was for solitary escapism, if only for a while. We all dream of escaping once in a while, to take our passport and just go. Abandon the car at the airport, toss the mobile into the Channel and run.

As I sat on a stone bridge at the very peak of the Trough of Bowland, surrounded by heather covered hills and fir trees, red cheeked with miles and miles of country road before and behind me, and legs dangling over the icy cold water, I contemplated. The stream was crystal clear and burbling along between the rocks, and as I sat and watched my Frank Thomas Aqua (ironically) glove below, swiftly disappearing downstream, and began to plan my descent down the moss strewn riverbank into the sub zero river, I thought: "I can't wait to get home".