We went to play golf yesterday. I ache all over and fear the day I start doing any kind of fast-paced exercise, I'll surely die. We must have walked several miles through terrible conditions, rain and mud made for more drag. I did really well, better than some in the group, and for a first timer, apparently I played an exceptional game.

The course is in Berkshire, a pseudo, wannabe wealthy part of the country. Leaving London always tears strips off me. Little Britain, exists all over this little island - weird that. Leaving London is, well, venturing forth into England. A totally different kind of person can be found in Little Britain - from country chavs to weird ass Thai restaurants in Wokingham, Berkhamsted. We went for a few pints after the game, which eventually led to realising starvation, which led to us stupidly believing that we could, or should find somewhere to eat. We made several attempts to fnd somewhere to park our empty bellies and feed, one of which was a Pizza Express - there was a queue outside Pizza Express, that in itself was bizarre. Eventually, after being told that we would have to wait at least an hour for a table, we set off to find yet another place to brave eating food that could only come from kitchens of hell, disease, filth and death.

We settled on a pub/Thai restaurant. This town was one of those places where people look at you with glancing suspicion, you hear them mumble under their breath, in thick Gloucester-ish accents 'You don' be fro' aroond these paerts'. The walls of the town know you're not from around there. All the buildings are Tudor-style with white walls, heavy beams and bits of dark wood plastered on to the front of them. Midgets once resided over this place, all the celings were under 6" high with extended beams interspersed to make menace for the unsuspecting tall person not intending to keep his head in tact.

The Thai menu was spectacular, bound in some wooden relief carving of jungle and elephants. The pages of the menu, printed opaque plastic with what looked like the Singapore Airways ladies watermarked on to them. They had tried to apply the bullshit fine-dining jargon to their menu and got it all horribly wrong, words like sensational, graceful and elegant that were all used to describe dishes and ingredients should have been replaced with devastating, disgraceful and diabolical. Senstational chicken fried gracefully in ginger and pepper, elegantly sprinkled with cashew nuts - no explanation required.

The food was some of the worst ever to pass my lips and the restaurant was overflowing - mind you, this was a restaurant in an old Tudor style 2nd bedroom, it would be unreasonable really to expect something other than a Bangkok Fawlty Towers sputter. The look of glee on the faces of the unfortunate punters as they received their bowls of slosh and plates of piquant sweepings said something about the mentality of the local population. Where they get there renowned arrogance from I'll never know.

I'm not sure if it was the town, the hipflask of cognac or the joint but it was one of those experiences that creeps in sideways, userps reality and like a virus with no antidote takes over and makes you the subject of it's story to be told. A fresh perpective, no matter how warped has value, I'm sure of that the only thing is that I am still searching for the meaning in this one - all I can do is laugh.

I feel good today, yesterday was a mighty day out, a good use of a day. Just had a breakfast of German Smoked Ham, Emmenthal, egg and croissant. Laundry needs to be done and the house needs to be cleaned - so i'll be reporting on the state of the underground, lack of ettiquette on the underground and in public generally, you can probably look forward to some uncalled for bad language and verbal abuse toward office pedants, twats and scum alike.

It's mother's day in South Africa and it's Kizzies birthday tomorrow so I'll make a few phonecalls later on.