The town tucks itself into its hoodie which for arguments sake we'll call a valley and up atop the surrounding hills where Victoria still lives by the spindles are those magnificent crouching monsters of houses which dwell half in the moonlight and half in the light of day.

I had my fill of cappuccino in the faux cotton mill and slogged my way through gawking tourists to the  old tannery yards passing by the second-hand shops where history was being sold cut price,
Meat pie sandwiches as my brother says is what bread was made for, not being sure about this I ****** on some Kendal Mint Cake and still looking for 'Spanish Gold' I came across Tiger Nuts (remember them?) I can remember when my teeth numbered more than the nuts in a penny bag.

Aren't these what we are made from?
layers of where we came from.
sandwiched memories.