Prom

It hardly seems believable that this has grown into this but believe it we must because the proof, almost literally, stares me in the face. With a touch of illegality the young hoodlum is off to the S6 prom, home around midnight and then at some ungodly hour, 3am, I need to wake myself up for a drive to the airport for a whole group of them to head off to Berlin. A little sortie from the nest. 

Apart that it was the usual unexciting Wednesday. With Phil here the extra hands came in useful for making the final tweaks to the smoker (a fuse, a safety temperature cut-off, nothing important) and we can call that done apart from a live test with a slab of cow or pig.

Oh, and my first proper soaking on the bike since I started the daily run for the paper. That's not bad. In 18 weeks I've been drizzled on twice and had one drenching.