I wish I loved lawnmowers

I really do wish I did. Because if I loved lawnmowers I could go to the lawnmower museum I just heard about on the radio in a piece about small museums. It’s in Southport apparently — a seaside town “fringed to the north by the Ribble Estuary,” according to Wikipedia. It would be quite a trip to go up there, and I’d almost certainly have to stay the night. I think I might stay in the Prince of Wales Hotel, which looks conveniently situated for the station and the museum too. I can hardly bear to think how much I’d be looking forward to making that trip if I loved lawnmowers. On the radio they said they have all sorts of models from Victorian ones all the way through to a state-of-the-art robot one that’s powered by solar energy. If I was planning the visit I’d probably have a bit of a virtual walk-round on Street View, and in fact I’ve just done exactly that in an effort to capture the feeling I’d have if I was actually anticipating a trip to the lawnmower museum. Exploring the area I discovered that Southport looks very much like Weston-super-Mare, where, as it happens, I stayed in a halfway house many years ago after doing a stint in rehab. Now crack cocaine —that I loved.