And so for Christmas...

Never EVER go on holiday when you are going with a couple who are going to split up.

Firstly, apologies. I had hoped to blog on Thursday, but didn't get time what with trying to sleep on the train in the morning, and the last train journey with someone who I originally thought was a train fitty, but then realised I was just tricking myself but still ended up chatting to after a month or so. And we've been train chatties ever since.

We had a fantastic Christmas, back in December. Some friends came up from London because they would rather spend New Year with us in Nottingham. They're not normal friends. Whilst enjoying that time, the idea formulated... celebrate another Christmas, six months later. The original plan was to spend it in London, whoever when we realised our London frinds lived as far apart as London was from Brighton we thought ... well, why not velebrate in Brighton.

As ever these plans ended up changing. One of the London crew pulled out last minute. One of the Nottingham crew pulled out, was replaced then the replacement pulled out so we ended up down to six. Not a bad number really.

Another change to plans - original plan was to meet at the pub on the Thursday night, then come back to mine to stay the night until around 4am when we would leave to avoid the rush hour. That's ok, I like the pub and only have to knock up the sofabed. Only then we weren't, we were staying at Laura's. Fine. I still get to go to the pub. And to Brighton. we all got to the pub, only then the plan changed again - why not go straight down to Brighton from the pub? After all, we owuld only get 3 hours or so sleep in Nottingham, we could have the same sleep down in Brighton. Lovely logic, only surely there is a diference to sleeping in a bed or on a semi-comfortable sofa, to sleeping in the world's most uncomfortable car seat? Yes. But I got some lovely early morning photos of Brighton when I got so uncomfortable I thought it would be better to doze on the beach. It isn't much - the beach is pebble, not sand, and if it isn't one pebble digging into your head it's another in the back. And the sea is so blummin noisy! And it doesn't stop at all. Ever.

The weekend though was phenomenal. Absolutely phenomenal. Well, aside from one minor point alluded to earlier.

One of my friends who went down to Brighton regularly confides in me. A few days before Brighton he confided that he had been sleeping with someone who wasn't his girlfriend. Both of the girls - his long-term girlfriend of 10 years, and his sex toy of 10 months were going to Brighton. How annoying is that - I can't hold down a relationship for 10 weeks, yet he can get two to last for ten months concurrently!

Anyhow, I knew this was a bad thing. I don't know how, but sometimes you just know that if you go on holiday - even if only for a long weekend within your domestic country - with both of the people you are having sex with, that something may go wrong.

Immediately.

That's how long it took, if anyone asks "how long does it take for the affair to be a problem?" I don't know how it came out - there were lots of private discussions, and I - as always - ended up getting stuck in the middle, offering advice to all five of the other people there including infidel, vixen and victim, as well as support for the other two.

There were many private discussions. Fortunately, for the majority of the time we were still very much able to enjoy the weekend. But yes, as a general piece of advice, don't go on holiday with a couple you konw are going to split up.

Anyhow, on the Monday we were to leave. Were to leave. I knew it was a bad thing the moment I said that we had not been given a specific time to be out of the apartment we had rented. This was, almost certainly, because there was no-one staying in it that night.

I had to be at work.

We went for a lovely long walk along the beach in the blazing hot sunshine, and sat in a bar and had a pint and discussed the plans for the remainderment. What time we should leave - I was in favour of 7pm. Being up at 5:45 in the morning, if we left at 7 I would be home shortly after midnight, just time enough to sleep. But they were in favour of 8pm, allowing more time for the traffic to die down. Anyhow, whilst the discussions were still ongoing twe went to the pub. Fatal mistake. FATAL.

At 7 I threatened to walk to the train station to catch a train. And I would have, but for Just One More.

Just One More is a terrible game. Just One More is regularly played by my friend, knowing full well that I can't lose. I will never lose at something like that. So we keep having Just One More drink. Then it got to 8pn. And I put my foot down, that we should go. Only then one of my friends came back from the bar with raspberry sambucas. Well, it'd have been rude to say no. And now technically I was in a round. So I had to buy some. And the next thing we knew we were illegally squatting in the flat for an extra night free-of-charge but only after winning the local pub quiz with a further 12 bottles of beer, and the massively huge "jackpot" of £16.

And so I had to ring in to work the next morning to say I wouldn't be in. Goodness garateful 'sunstroke' is almost a legitimate reason not to go to work and yet still to go in with a suntan. It''s kind of the holiday-hangover excuse.

And we couldn't have picked a better day for it - hottest day of the year so far! Although surely there must be a decent 100=-150 of those in the run up after winter...