Me and the lady are taking a short break. This is one of the advantages of only working on the weekends, I can go on holiday without having to take time off.
We’re in St Ives. We were greeted in the hotel room by this chap who is stood outside our window.
He’s looking at me right now as I type out this entry as a word document to upload once I reach May the 3rd. Unnervingly he’s just started squawking as I write about him ... and now for the first time since we arrived he’s flown off. Perhaps he forged some sort of psychic link with my brainium and realised I was writing about him. Or, perhaps it was just a co-incidence.
Tomorrow we’re going to the Tate, there’s a gallery here. First though we’re off on an improvised pub crawl.