No, I'm Not Dead

It seems that I neglected to tell various people that I was going on vacation (holiday?) around England and Wales with my family last week. Several of them became rather worried about my health and well-being when my daily torrent of ranting and verbal abuse via instant messenger and e-mail abruptly ceased. To those who might care to know, no I'm not dead. Not even ill. But I am very tired from driving 25 hours over the course of the week, at an average speed of 33.2 MPH according to the newfangled car satnav system which I have nicknamed "Thingy." Nine days, six hundred miles, two hundred photos, four B&Bs, and one hose-type-thing-that-fell-off-the-engine-block later, I'm back in Cambridge. We got to see some really wild desolation, explore some off-the-beaten-track bits of the country (thanks mostly to Thingy's curious notions regarding the fastest way to get from A to B) and ate some of the worst food we've ever tasted.

It was a good trip. But I need a holiday to recover from my holiday. A full trip report will be posted when I find the time.

And Abby, if you're reading this, sorry again about the yelling and swearing in the lifts at Heathrow. And the yelling and swearing at the pub in Castleton. And the yelling and swearing in the car on the backroads around Hay-on-Wye. And probably five or six other instances of idiocy that I either didn't notice at the time, or have since forgotten.