Last night I returned from Spain, and arrived in London in goodness knows what time, and to my great relief, it was raining. No, it would be too selfish to say raining, it was really like bucketfulls of water being hurled down to Earth, right on top of me, wearing nothing but a thin shirt and some shorts.

Spain was (no matter what the subject may proclaim) Fabarooni. It was absolutely great. I was staying on the south coast, near the Costa Del Sol, or the Costa Del Crime, as it also known (as it houses what I think could be the whole population of British gangsters). I was stying with my Uncle, who builds these houses that are like...castles. Moroccan castles.

Unfortunately, there were not one, but two houses being built on either side of the house, with builders who only build at 5 o' clock in the morning. So that was one downside. It's a brilliant house, especially for creativity, since MiMO has been twice reborn within it's confines.

I also went to Tarifa for the day...If you don't know what Tarifa is; it's an amazing beach with crystal clear waters, huge waves, and chiringuitos running down the entire coast. I went body surfing in the waves, which was fun for a while, but then a dirty great wave picked me up as if I was a fly, and then smashed me into the sand, giving me two injuries; one nasty knock to the head, and a nifty little scar on my eyebrow.

So right now, I'm staying in Bristol for the week. Internet access is once again mine. But it's only a week until I'm off again. Guess where? Malibu. Bloody hell. I don't know how I wound up going there.