A touch taxed today after a high speed run down the drisly M4 coping with a hangover and the urge to pass out at the wheel, to go careering between lanes before going into some kind of death spin. The trip to Swansea had been an undoubted success, but one too many beverages the night before and the prospect of a Sunday traffic four hour journey had somewhat dented my enthusiasm. In the end, the most dangerous moment on the trip inevitably came right near the end, where desperate to drain the weasel and trapped behind a 15mph learner, I executed a high-risk overtaking maneuvre, getting back to the correct side of the road just in time to avoid the Tesco’s truck.
Ah well, these perils are small prices to pay for the usual onslaught of amusement to be caught by catching up with old friends. Swansea is becoming synonymous in my mind with rest and recreation, neatly balancing ‘heart of darkness’ town life spew in the gutter night life with nearby open beaches that stretch off a mile into the ocean at low tide. High points include Mr Unholy’s comments about Bobey’s family news, while low points include being accused of stealing a kebab. Small knocks indeed and I have returned feeling ready to re-engage with the animal frenzy of work, manic eyed and loose-limbed.