I went home for a week, it was nice. I ate all sorts of cakes and didn't drink for a which I am sure my liver is very thankful for.
Then I visited my dad in Wales, the drive took ages and my little brother who was navigating kept thinking we were either on the wrong motor way or that we had missed an important turning. We did arrive because I completed ignored his advice, my dad lives on a house on a remote hill in the middle of no-where. I used to think my mothers house was remote but it isn't at the end of a two mile long drive part of which is up an extremely steep hill. You really get your money's worth when you send post to my dad, that stamp is damn good value.
The house is some-what ramshackle, this is in part due to the extremely large dog that lives there and the trio of snooty cats. The farm is spotless, almost clinical in it's neat rows of goats and bails of hay which makes the grunge of the house even more strange.
I spent some time with my dad, and my little brother. I realised I don't really like my dad that much, we have nothing in common really and he hasn't done much in his life to be proud of. Which is a bit strange, I mean not liking your dad is weird in itself. Even Luke Skywalker, when he was extremely drunk in the pub with Han would probably be abit proud of his dad, I mean he was one bad ass mo-fo he was evil but he was effectively evil.
In some ways it was easier when my father was a pantomime villian who didn't get old or seems so pathetic.
Wales was extremly cold, we nearly got snowed in and I couldn't wait to leave. My bed was riddle with fleas so I got covered in bites. Even the baby goats got dull after a while.
I was feeling a bit blue on the way into work but I listened to my new album on my Ipod, the best of Disney. It is impossible to feel glum when Julie Andrews is singing about spoons full of sugar at you.
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