Sometimes I get overwelming feelings of nostalgia. Usually connected with maple syrup and associations to pancakes in New York, or when it rains on Collin Street it reminds me of when I went to Paris and it rained the entire time I was there. There is also a massive amount of things that brings my thoughts back to England. Not so strange perhaps, after all I lived there for 3 years. But I guess these types of nostalgia separate themselves from the other kind in the sense that I absolutely don't wish I could go back there. Carlisle was aweful. Uni sucked. Just have a look at these photos from a night out in July last year. Half-naked teenage mums and dodgy, desperate men. And this was one of the best nightclubs in town.
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