I was only gone five minutes.

When you don’t post to your blog for a while, is that falling on or off the wagon? I felt like I was a part of society for a week or so there, but never fear kids, I’m back. There’s that eternal paradox, which is definitely not eternal and probably not that great as paradoxes go, but you don’t have anything to write about unless you do something, at which point you cease to have the time to write about things. Life’s tough, eh?

Not as tough as being behind the times, though. As I type I’m watching Gavin and Stacey on the television – I’m only five episodes into some random season, where Gav and Stace get married and live together in Essex. I’ve never seen it before, but Nessa is my new favourite comedy character, vying for top spot as Empress of Hilariousness with Sue White from Green Wing. What’s occurrin’?

I had cause to travel down southwards the other week, almost to the end of the country. It involved getting a train down to London, travelling arduously across a painful sliver of our fair capital city, and then getting one of the new High Speed 1 trains from St. Pancras International, the most pretentious station in all the world.

Not only is it painfully unaware of the faint ridiculousness of its international status, sending trains to Paris and Brussels (they don’t count as international, France and Belgium – they’re really just huge motorway service stations on the way to somewhere much better), its collection of gastro-cafes, sushi bars and patisseries makes me twitch in the face. Nothing wrong with a WH Smith and a Marks & Spencer ‘Simply Food’ in the great British train station. No use trying to couch things for all the sensitive French folks that might be grumbling off the Eurostar.