Possibly, in hindsight, deep-fried pizza and a deep-fried Mars bar were not the ideal midnight snack, but we were aiming for the complete Scottish experience so ... sadly, this may have not aided me in the continuing saga of me versus my jeans. I can get them on, but sitting down in them is not fun. Probably not fun for anyone watching, either.
Dave, Manda and I have a sleepover and drink some whisky and play some cards and talk a fair amount of rubbish and fail to leave the house for periods longer than approximately 37 minutes. We also fail to get fish food. Or to get to bed before 2am. Which means that as an unemployed person, my day technically is about two hours behind that of the average person, so a 12.30pm getting up time is really only 10.30am. But this morning I am wakened at the ungodly hour, by any person's standards, of the real 8am, by a phone call from home - people are drinking at the Cambridge! I am pleased for them. The Cambridge is a good bar. However, I do feel they could have waited a few more hours. I do not hold grudges, though. Back to sleepytime, where I dream I am a 15-year-old boy who can breathe under water right up until my phone goes again, still too early by my standards, at 9.35am. Justin is a cripple and can't go camping but wants to know if anyone has a nurse uniform. Mine is in New Zealand somewhere, last seen being put to good use by Dan. Back to sleep again and I have dreams about fish and chips, which suggest to me that I am hungry, and men in very short shorts, which suggest that perhaps I am a pervert, and then it's 12.30 and time for breakfast and the good news that Kruse is an uncle.
I did a touristy thing and climbed up to Arthur's seat. I am not a good climber. I am more of a huffy, puffy, let's just stop here and admire the view, sort of climber.
I did a silly thing and got on the mini roundabout in the playground opposite Manda's house. Dave spun me round and round and it was fun for about ten seconds and then I felt very ill and I shrieked 'Stop, make it stop, please, please' and he just chortled and I resolved to throw up on him, but not Manda, no, not her, because she just looked very sorry for me, whilst somehow still managing to look superior for not having been so foolish to get on the damn thing in the first place.
Jelly beans in the shape of little love hearts are delicious.