I’ve always reckoned that it’s best not to write journal when you’re really, really tired, so I’ll save my impressions for tomorrow. Those that survive the night, that is.
It’s a good way to spend your birthday, though, motoring from Wales to Somerset and back, and lunching in Burnham-on-Sea with the best-looking fella in the Bayside Café. I recommend it. Get your own fella, though, if you want to avoid me and my brolly chasing you down the prom, prom prom. Tiddely om, pom, pom.
Which just goes to show you ought not try to do a Cockney accent unless you’re born to it.
