The weekend's nearly over...

...and I still don't have to work tomorrow. I have to pinch myself to believe that I have taken six months off work. Do I fancy myself as some kind of millionaire? Do I think that I will cut a fine figure amongst those ladies who lunch? Am I a homeless jobless layabout? Maybe more of that last one.

Also, I stand corrected, my sister has informed me that the last train home is not known as The Booze Train (despite her using the phrase only the other day when I gatecrashed her office).. the last train into Essex is grandly titled The Vomit Comet. Sadly, I missed that particular form of carriage decoration.

Now for excuses, the reason that the last entry was so long was, obviously, because there was only one last week. And the reason for that is we are still waiting for a password to update my sister's internet connection from the hamster-driven affair she has now to a state of the art modem powered by rubber bands, or something like that. Believe you me, it may have taken a long time to read but it took a damn sight longer to post it on t'internet for your enjoyment.

Right, Thursday was Election Day and the cat kept me up all night as he wanted to watch the Election coverage on BBC. The results started to come in shortly before 11 and I drifted in and out of sleep until about 4.30, when I opened an eye wide enough to see the sentence 'Labour has won' flash across the screen. It is always fun to watch Tories fail to win a seat and that fun is only beaten by watching them lose one. And the BBC re-ran the clip of Portillo losing his seat in the 1997 Election, basically just for fun.

This is Peter Snow leaping around in front of the swingometer, remember, this is just a bit of fun

and here is me, trying to concentrate on the Election while lying on a bed made from requisitioned sofa cushions

Thursday afternoon I had met up with Russ, a mate from Gangneung, and we went to the Old Bailey because we thought that it would be fun to watch a bunch of old men parade around in wigs.

We both had a nightmare getting to St Paul's Tube. He was stuck on a bus that seemed to be going via Pusan and I was on a train that just stopped. Stopped. Dead on the line. And I missed the explanation over the tannoy as I was listening to my voicemail at the time(get me!). So it just stopped and I didn't know why. Then the lights went out. And flashed on again before going out once more. There was a strange silence as the engines stopped working and nothing. Turns out that the train was 'knackered', the technical term used by the guy wandering between carriages letting us know what was going on. He said that it would be about ten minutes. And, sure enough, ten minutes later there was a thud as something ploughed into the back of our train. It was another train and it pushed us into the station. 45 minutes late.

But I met with Russ and we went off to the Central Criminal Court to see us some big name baddies.

We found it quite easily and eagerly trotted through the first door. Came out again and went into the correct door and up the stairs. There was a guy at the top manning the door and he told us that we weren't able to bring in phones or cameras. Fair enough, we said, where can we leave them? Outside, he said. Outside, where? Just outside. I think that he was suggesting that we leave all our valuables on the pavement outside the court. Not a great idea. So we decided on a rota system and Russ went in while I watch the paparazzi harass a bunch of Middle Eastern looking people

Russ came out with tales of cocaine and big wigs but it was too late for me to go in so we went to sit on the steps outside St Paul's Cathedral instead

Thursday night was all about the Election and Friday was spent basking in the knowledge that we had another four Tory-less years ahead of us. I picked up my passport from the Embassy of Vietnam and met Amanda for lunch. Then I met up with Russ again and we bought some beer and went to Hyde Park. We sat by the Serpentine and drank it. I saw the Diana memorial too. I quite liked it. Don't shoot me for saying so. Probably because I haven't paid tax in this country for many years so none of my money has gone into it. But, as far as fountains go, it is a good 'un.

We came back to Felixstowe on Saturday so here are some more photos from my home town. First is the bit of the beach that we lived near as children- 'our' beach

I seem to remember that we had my fifth or sixth birthday party in a beach hut down there. We spent a lot of time there as kids, playing in the stones, building stone castles, trying to wash the tar off our feet. In fact, if we stood on the windowsill of the room that I shared with my sister, we could see a small triangle of sea. Now that's posh. And this is the house, the first house that I remember living in and one of four that my mother bought (not all at the same time!)

More beach- check out those clouds, April showers don't stop when May arrives

Me standing on a breakwater

The pub that my mum took me to on my fourteenth birthday because I was old enough to be in the bar. But since we had taken my 12 year old sister with us, we had to get the drinks and sit outside. Thereby setting the standard for many other nights where I would go in the bar and Penny would wait outside

We brought the cat back to Felixstowe with us and he seems fine, though he did cry all the way home again. He has been in and out of the garden, between rain and hail showers, all weekend though we did have to go and bring him in when we saw a baby bird sitting on the patio

Charlie may not be the world's greatest hunter (I am sure that he wouldn't like me to tell you this but when he was a kitten, while his sister was out bringing down all manner of big game, he used to hunt worms and bring them into the kitchen) but even he might not have been able to resist what amounts to a free Big Mac sitting in his garden. Eventually it went, we know not where.

Thanks to Margo and Patrick for the phone calls today. It means a lot to know that I haven't been forgotten. Hope to see you guys soon.

Better go now before I stretch Rory's speed reading capabilities too far and his head explodes.