Four hundred odd miles of driving later, and I find myself in Brighton. I'm beginning to know the road between Shotley Gate and here like the back of my hand. But with less eczema. Having popped down here on Saturday evening, I popped straight back to Suffolk with Lisa in tow (well, in the passenger seat of my car - she refused to wear the towbar) in order to attend a hastily convened summit with specially selected members of my family this afternoon. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet my next of kin over sausage rolls and cheesy Wotsits, so naturally Lisa couldn't refuse.
Personally I felt it went well. We discussed the merits of Slimming World versus Weightwatchers as we tucked into the strawberry cheesecake, and agreed to meet (and more importantly, eat) again at my birthday meal in a month's time.
Having discussed my position as the family's most successful dieter, I finished my third helping of lemon meringue pie, and finally agreed to escort Lisa out of there, picking up a microwave and toaster on the way out.
We sped back down to Brighton tonight, and Lisa is currently declaring me to be "outrageously rude" for posting to my blog instead of coming to bed. Honestly, there's just no pleasing some people.