Being the occasion of the August Bank Holiday, I took the opportunity to vacation in that sunniest of West Sussex new towns: Crawley.
Though there is enough in that pleasant burgh to keep even the most Ritalin-addled child amused for a lifetime, Mr. Mark E. Boy and I saw fit to travel far and wide in search of first-class entertainment. And we did succeed.
Friday evening included a stop at the unofficial "Best Pub in Maidenbower". We popped into the Frogshole Farm, asked the barman for the usual, and had two fine gammon steaks bestowed upon us. It was, indeed, heavenly.
Life in the provinces has, unfortunately, taken its toll on Mark and me. To sate our appetite for carcinogens and bustle, we hopped on the fast train to London Blackfriars and, forty minutes later, found ourselves in the heart of the metropolis. So it was that we met with the correctly-spelt web-hosting philanthropist, Stuart "Stuwee" Macdonald. And so it was that we quaffed drinks with three lovely ladies.
Sunday found us in Brighton. When a town has both a pier and a well-stocked Oxfam bookshop, one could feel quite at home there.
On Monday, it was to the driving range, where I rediscovered my startling aptitude for slicing the ball, though I was relieved to make contact at all. Then, I had to bid a tearless farewell to the Leisure Park, the County Mall, and Bar Med, as I left Crawley for the last time. My holiday was at an end, but the memories will last for ever.
PS. Are you wondering at the irritatingly-loquacious tone of this post? Wonder no longer: I'm composing it offline for publication at some point tomorrow, and the hurried terseness of the furtive workplace blog-post is quite unnecessary. And I tend to speak in an irritatingly-loquacious tone.
PPS. All of Mark's photos are up at the Summer 2004 Gallery. Mine will follow in less than a fortnight.
PPPS. The real reason I'm on the computer out of hours is to listen to some of my new CDs (now that I'm in iPod heaven, I haven't got a Discman handy). Currently on is Razorlight's Up All Night, which spiffs.
PPPPS. Critics of my style might be interested to note that I've managed to get through a whole post with nary a parenthesis. Hopefully the four postscripts should make up for that.