Spending a weekend in Bristol with the lovely C, en route to Dartmoor has become an annual event.
It may have started as a break in the long drive south of a Friday night, but just because this year I’m adopting the more environmentally responsible option of train travel, is no reason to mess with tradition.
Obviously something in the universal planning scheme of things screwed up somewhere as clearly we’re supposed to live in the same city. Snatched weekends like this are a small step in righting that wrong.
Other traditions have crept in over the years: sitting up far too late gossiping, eating out at fab restaurants and, well, shopping.
This year we find Cribbs in excellent sales mode and snag numerous bargains.
C buys the most gorgeous pair of shoes I’ve seen in a long time (pink with a flash of grey on the heel - total loveliness) and I snag a seriously reduced pair of grey heels that will be fab for wearing with shift dress at work and best of all...a pair of my favouritest shoes in the world ever, in another colour, half-price.
But all this is by-the-by (or even buy-the-buy), the main highlight of the weekend is spending time together.