The Saga - Epilogue

The Pyrenean Saga (as recorded in the last few blogs) may have ended, but then... it may not have. Like Brexit, who the fuck knows?

Whilst most people are wondering what the hell is going on, we took one more look to see if we could find our nemesis, now known to be the Dark Lord Farrage. There is more chance here, I thought, than in the British Parliament. Sod all happening there...

Things were looking bleak, the snow almost gone, the lifts shut, the bars closed. Now we're talking serious stuff...

One of the little people came with us on this dangerous mission. (Spoiler alert, no children were damaged in the making of this blog. A couple of adults, however, were a little worse for wear...)

We set off up to the lofty, grassy, heights hoping to spot one of the architects of the demotion of Great Britain to Little Britain; a 'Lesser-Spotted Boris', a 'Endlessly-Spotted Mogg' or, hopefully, an 'Excessively-Spotted Farrage'.

With what little snow remained, a likeness of our nemesis was made. 

However, we were alone. We resorted to fighting amongst ourselves, with yours truly getting the worst of the barrage.

The mountainside was scoured for evidence of life, or failing that, a politician.

But to no avail. Our nemesis had escaped again...

We retired almost gracefully to a local drinking establishment where Lyzëa hit the beer.

 Then sunk her teeth into raw flesh.

On returning home, she hit the rock 'n roll scene....

There is no stopping this kid...