"The mind is its own place...

...and in itself
Can make a Hebburn of hell, a hell of Hebburn".

As Milton didn't quite say, though I don't believe he ever spent much time in Hebburn, in which case he might have penned a line or two on the place.

We went to complete the move this weekend, getting kitchen stuff, books, Molly's toys.

A trip to the Newtown cured us of any undue nostalgia, with the Chavs drinking their Fosters out of a big box, spitting, cursing and pissing in the street. What a fucking midden that town's become.

A big lump of the populace are workless, hopeless, mindless child-abusing shit. Maybe it's something to do with post-industrialism. I don't know. I do know I don't want my little girl growing up there.

Here ends that chapter. Turn the page.

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