If you are wise you'll listen to me

Back from a long weekend across the border in Cornwall. Had a great time, though I am entirely knackered out. Hate the fact I can’t sleep on trains, and – as discussed before – driving is not my idea of a laugh.

Hired a fat-arsed little Meganne at Plymouth, which really wasn’t built with a gallumphing six foot three me in mind. Kept knocking the windscreen-wipers into action with my knee, and clutch control is a sod when you have to twist your ankle round to reach the pedals. The laughably steep West Looe Hill - with cars parked all up what’s barely a single lane and vans bombing down towards you - was Not Fun.

Have dreamt three nights running of being packed into a box I don’t fit, with the lid being pressed shut over my protruding ankles and feet. Can’t imagine why.

Still, all worthwhile. Wedding on Saturday was shockingly good, with fireworks and bands, and scallops-wrapped-in-bacon. We have also made some new friends. Felt overly sober, though, having Behaved 'cos of driving duties. As a result, my "dancing" was, I’m told, worse than usual. That’s quite an achievement, actually.

On Sunday we were off to chums in a converted mill (well, a converting mill, since there's still work to be done) just outside Bodmin, where there were more pals and Pimms and a feast. Around midnight, those who were staying had to contend with a bat who wanted to join the party. Eerie, sweet things, bats, utterly silent as they zip about overhead. Eventually directed the thing in the direction of an open window, and retired about oneish.

The pals who'd left, it turned out, fared worse – their car broke down and they didn't see home till gone five. As I said, cars can pretty much sod off.

The Doctor, meanwhile, performed wonders as an ace navigator all weekend – especially clever since she’s not a driver herself – and ensured there were beers and wines waiting when driving chores had been done.

In an effort to stretch my twisted limbs, on Monday we went for a two-hour walk with Charlie and the Chocolate Factory waiting at the end of it. Really enjoyed the film. A clever chum had pointed out the worlds of Dr Who represented by (the utterly fantastic) Deep Roy, James Fox and Annette Badland. I also wonder whether Grandpa George was specifically cast to look like Roald Dahl... Not so upset by the Christopher Lee segments as others (such as Gaiman) have been. Felt it gave the film some depth – and made it more than just some lurid, occasionally sickly, eye-candy.

Anyway. Back home last night to cat-sick and house chores and work. Got quite a lot done of the stuff I took away with me. Had taken Time Travellers proofs to read on the train, and sadly kept laughing at my own jokes – and worse, at my own turns-of-phrase. Think it all hangs together, though.

A world of secret projects still needs battling, though. Best get on with it.