My weekend

In another world, I got married on Saturday.

In this world, that wedding has been postponed until a time when Julie and I are settled together again (as opposed to being seperated by hundreds of miles), so we went to Glastonbury, and stayed in a rather pleasant B & B instead.

On Saturday afternoon we had a nose around the Abbey, chortled at some of the shops on the High Street, and were intimidated by some of the frankly aggressive “free spirits”, then Julie had a Reiki session which left her feeling relaxed and happy, but still with a sore back. In the evening we had dinner outside a pub, met a nice dog with a bit of a flea allergy, discussed the rules of chess, drank lots of gin whilst watching the local mating rituals, and slept in The Most Comfortable Bed Ever.

Yesterday, we breakfasted with Australians, climbed the Tor (’tis but a pimple!), and then went to Wookey Hole where there are some groovy caves, a reasonably interesting paper mill, and best of all, a maze of mirrors. I vaguely remember going here as a nipper, and my brother Colin pronouncing the caves better than those at Cheddar - a shocking line to take, I thought at the time. I haven’t been to Cheddar for a long long time, so I couldn’t possibly comment, but Wookey was certainly well worth visiting. (Hey, I just realised why Colin liked Wookey so much.)

After Wookey, we drove around Somerset, heading vaguely towards Weston-super-Mare but ending up at Brean Sands which was just the epitome of the Great British Holiday: mobile homes and caravans that don’t go anywhere, sand in your, well, everything, and cheaply-built single-storey resorts with “cabaret”, a word which strikes terror into my heart. Super.

Home, pizza, pub, bed. Lovely.