Cardiff gets curiouser and curiouser as anything would be wont to do if you hadn't spoken to anyone you knew for three days straight. PLeasant amblings and readings and musings and then starting to go a little crazy. C rescued me though which was brilliant and took me on an incredibly surreal 'date' to Ikea which was unfeasibly large and really rather terrifying. We feasted on 65p hotdogs and admired shelving before toddling off through an extremely fast approaching mist to have tea at the flat. C taught me bits about the docklands area and corrected my Welsh pronunciation which is, unsurprisingly, shit. It's very odd not being able to speak a foreign language at all - even with spanish I can have a 70% chance of getting the sound vaguely in the right area. Welsh - no. dd, d, f, ff, they're all different, mad and beautiful.

Apparently Cardiff consumes more alcohol at the weekend than London. I am unsure about this but my brother promises it to be true. I may have to stop believing what he says...