Luton is Luton.
You can scrub the dirt off a potato, but its still a dirt apple.
A Pomme de Terre for you Francophiles.
But a big fat chunk of my extended family lives there because of many reasons. All the family living there is probably number 1 on the list of reasons. Being born there, another reason. A slight shrug could be the third reason…
Maybe there aren’t so many reasons at all.
So, anyway, Dad lives there, thats his toolshed at the top. Dad loves hammers.
We had a party because he had been around the sun many, many times. It was quite a big deal. All the various generations of family assembled in a hall and had a big party, with a few impromptu parties thrown in. It was nice.
Between all that I showed my partner the center of town and a couple of Pubs. I felt terrible because this city was her introduction to Europe. She was polite and was overly positive about the town and my Family who can be a bit full on.
On our last day a fat homeless man passed out in the bushes outside a pub we were drinking in and Paramedics had to revive him and take him away. He was so overweight that they had to use a special stretcher apparently.
It was a really lovely day.
So I tied an Onion to My Belt 