I arrived back in Shotley Gate at 1:30am last night. At least I think I did. To be honest, the fog was so thick for most of the journey, I could've ended up anywhere. But my front door key worked, so I presume I'm in the right place.
I'd been fortified for the drive home by large quantities of pancakes which were produced as a result of a joint effort in Lisa's kitchen. I bought the ingredients and carefully followed my Mum's recipe, while Lisa fiddled with the gas, complained about my beating ethic (if a batter's worth beating, it's worth beating well), and insisted on stabbing the pancakes with her spatula at every given opportunity.
To be honest, it was a miracle we got as far as we did. You try buying batter mix and Jif lemon on the afternoon of Pancake Day. The shelves of every supermarket in Brighton were a batter and lemon free zone. I believe packets of pancake mix were changing hands for upwards of a hundred quid on the black market. It was like trying to buy a dozen red roses at 5pm on Valentine's Day (not that I've ever tried - Lisa will be getting a card and a firm handshake).
So I was forced to buy a bag of flour and six eggs instead, and make them from scratch. Fortunately every idiot knows the recipe for pancakes. So I texted my Mum and asked her to e-mail it to me.
But even though I say it myself, it was quite a successful effort. And I proved myself to be a fine flipper of a pancake (I refuse to use the phrase "great tosser").
Anyhoo, I've arrived home to the latest issue of 'The Shotley Noticeboard', which has a report on the Shotley Tsunami Appeal Day, a day of fun and fund-raising at the village hall which I sadly missed due to being in Brighton at the time performing the hits of Take That.
Apparently it was a huge success, and a good time was had by all. A jazz band "performed brilliantly to a small audience" (emphasis on the small) and "the drawing of the raffles took over an hour in total".
Blimey. And I thought the BBC dragged out the lottery show.