A weekend of late nights and lots of drinking - a housewarming party in Basingstoke on Saturday and then Super Bowl last night - and I'm not as young as I used to be thanks to this stupid reality we live in. Shakes fist at linear time.

Fortunately, there's nothing better for clearing the cobwebs than having a day off work and a walk along a windswept beach in February. So that's what we did. Just me, my wife, and Frederick Jackson-Jones, our gull. We've raised Frederick Jackson-Jones from an egg; it was a duck egg but you know me and my tinkering with genetic material. Just can't stop meddling. Frederick Jackson-Jones can be a bit of a miserable pet at home in the Gull Cavern but once he's had his manacles removed and is allowed to fly free he's a different creature altogether. His favourite activity is catching lumps of coal that we throw for him.

A very pleasant couple of hours then on Hayling Island and I feel fully invigorated and ready to tackle the remainder of the week at work. More's the pity.
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