A weekend that ended in Yeovil

Where?

After a quick google, here:

A decidedly random place to end a Sunday, but with the new job starting in Yeovil this morning, rather understandable.

Saturday, I went to walk into town, got as far as the end of the road and had to turn back ’cause I’ve never been so wet, at least not alone. Come to think of it, this happened on Friday — so what did I do Saturday?

Sunday saw me pack a bag, melt my lunch to a baking tray, and head to see Myles. The kid had a house guest I had to meet. Mrs Sparkle, an octopus who appreciates good pointing at the words the teacher is reading skills. We, of course, played trains and cars, and I got given two cars to take with me. I was telling Myles about my new job, how I had to travel to Yeovil and stay in a hotel, and he thought a cement mixer and a bat-mobile would save me from being bored. He wasn’t wrong. Smart kid that lad.

The 95.4 miles to get to Yeovil were almost a dream. The only irritation, the sun. It was at that dazzling height.

My only two complaints with the Premier Inn are the extractor fan and it’s 10 minutes of whirring, which brought back memories of the fan in the flat in Bristol and its 45 minute whir for flicking on-off the light, and their bed which I didn’t find that comfortable. Sure, they’re like, “OMG!!! Why not buy our beds?! Super amaze, like totes great sleep!” But where’s the spring digging into the small of the back? Where’s my indentation? I had an awful nights sleep.

I awoke early and paid for my parking. I then attempted to eat a full breakfast but that didn’t go very well. I don’t think I’d been up long enough to endure the texture of a sausage.

Today, I’ve had a lot of information, a lot of names, a lot of acronyms, said my way and I’ve spent the day quite glazed. I have a better understanding of what a funeral coach does but I’m still none the wiser if I’m honest.

And now I’m home. The 99.1 miles to get here were almost a dream, a little because I was tired, but mostly because nearly everyone was driving at the speed limit. I do like it when people do 70 in a 70. When there’s no real reason for us to dawdle, let’s not.

Tomos James

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