There’s not a great deal to write about today as yet. We’ve left Morton Hall now and are currently sitting in an internet café in the beautiful city of Edinburgh. We’re aiming to get to Newquay by Sunday, which is around 500 miles away if my memory serves me correctly, so we’re thinking about going to Blackpool, Leeds or Manchester along the way. The general way of doing things has been to ring camp sites from the big camp site book Martyn’s girlfriend Ally bought him. Ally, you have made our travelling so much better and for that we all love you, and will express this physically upon arrival back home.

I’ll update this post after the day’s activities are through.

Oh, and we keep losing the game all the time… like now. I just lost, shit.

Update

Unfortunately I didn’t manage to get any internet access at the times I remembered to take my diary into the city with me, so I’m going to write it all up now, sorry to the people who’ve been checking back here!

After I started this post in Edinburgh, we went for another visit to Wetherspoons for my first latte in a city, which made me feel all classy for a little while. After that, we walked back to the car park to decide where to drive to next!

Hindsight is great, Blackpool is not. We arrived on a camp site in Blackpool in the early evening and sat in the car for over an hour waiting for the rain to ease off enough to pitch the tent. After we got pitched we drove into Blackpool to have a look around, where we found the pleasure beach was closed, the pier was shit, and everything else was sleazy. Don’t get me wrong, it’d be good for a stag weekend when you’re too drunk to see by the time the neon signs are all being turned on, but arriving sober made it difficult to get into that classically English budget-holiday spirit.

We got some fish n chips from a greasy little café and got in the queue for the new Harry Potter book at Waterstone’s (for David and Martyn) ready for the midnight opening. Martyn bumped into somebody he recognised in the queue who offered some useful travelling advice which helped pass the time. I helped entertain the slow-moving queue almost on the stroke of midnight by showing the line what semi-digested fish n chips looks like. I don’t think I’ve ever produced so much vomit in one sitting before. I think the moment I really went off Blackpool was when I was sitting in a disabled toilet, in McDonald’s, in a sleazy town, squirting brown water from my ring-piece. It seems I’d gotten food poisoning, probably from either drinking Loch Ness’ water (not all of it), or eating slightly undercooked sausages.

After an hour in a dark toilet cubicle back at the camp site (we couldn’t find the light switch), the worst night of 2007 to date was finally over.