All Good Things

So, after 16 days of leisure, it's time to return to one's place of work for a resumption of  the daily grind. What have I learnt during this unparalleled period of rest? Well, I've come to understand that the body can absorb light to moderate alcohol intake everyday for 16 days with only slight psychological, mental and physical wear. I have also learnt that the 9lb of weight that I lost over a period of 3-4 weeks prior to jetting off was pretty easily supplanted by a 10lb gain in little over 2 weeks. Back to the regime...

I learnt the pain that a factory reset to a smart phone causes, especially when contacts are not backed up to a SIM. I discovered a street food event thanks to some returning buddies who rode the Cardiff Velothon, but sadly it was only last night and now I'm feeling the effect of Pipes' Bohemian Pilsner. But most of all, I truly learnt what holiday blues feel like. I'm not a great holidayer in the main, but this time - for the first time - I got really emotional about having to up and off back to Wales, shit weather, hay fever, socks and so forth.

Looking ahead, I am now booked to do the 3 Peaks Challenge next Friday. Dear god, what foolishness! As well as that I'm looking to try to get to Bring Out Your Lead 2015, but my main plan of attack fell by the wayside yesterday. Need to try some other avenues.

Anyway, work beckons. Off I go...

Ginger For A While

Clipping my hair in the bath tub on hols (enduring image, etc.), I popped out to check on my progress. Upon confronting my now bronzed reflection I was shocked at finding my head looking even more bronzed than the rest of me. Or indeed coppery. Panicking, I beckoned my wife to view the situation, imploring that she find what could only be a little cut or nick that had mingled with the sweat upon my cranial zone and somehow spread all over my head leaving me looking a little like Wes Brown without the footballing talent. There was no injury apparent. So what caused this wondrous transformation? Well, it was rust. My clippers had reacted to the warmth and wetness of these foreign climes and started to suffer for it, leaving me with a completely ginger crew cut. No photos unfortunately, but believe me when I say I lived the dream for a very short while. Not many can say that.

Hard Times

Life has taken a turn for the worse this past week: I was forced onto a plane at Cardiff International Airport and, after a couple of hours air-time, released onto the party island of Ibiza. It's been tough, but after several attempted escapes I have accepted my fate and allowed the routine to take me over. We swim at 9am, have brekkie, wander down the shops, pop to the beach to bask for a couple of hours, eat lunch at 2pm, return to the beach to sun ourselves and doze, go back to the apartment for a shower and a change and then pop out for supper. It's a brutal regime, but a necessary one as the good lady wife tells me each day. Something about de-stressing and all that jazz. The longer I'm here the more I see her point of view.

Here's hoping the boy hasn't burnt the house down yet 😐.