Well we eventually made it back to Suffolk yesterday afternoon, via a police blockade by the Oyster Reach which claimed the road was blocked and was stopping anyone driving onto the Shotley Peninsula. The friendly policeman was instructing each driver to "go through Tattingstone", an order which seemed to leave half of them looking blank and driving off in the wrong direction.

But I know the narrow country lanes of Suffolk like the back of my hand (and they're both equally hairy), so I had us back in Shotley Gate in time for the FA Cup penalty shootout, and more importantly the Eurovision Song Contest. Lisa pretty much slept through the whole thing, but I find the sight of a teenage rock band from Moldova with a granny playing drums in a rocking chair quite stimulating, so I sat through the voting of all 39 countries. If nothing else, it demonstrates just how much the rest of Europe hates us. I wish I'd voted UKIP now.

Anyhoo, no time to blog now - the pizza-tasting event has been upgraded to a Miracle-Weight-Loss-Lasagne-Eating Swingball & Flat-Pack Social, and Lisa and I need to go and discuss Crash's vasectomy over some garlic bread.