Back at work

So, now that I have managed a way to get to the UK, I find myself thinking, "Shit, what have I got myself into?" How the hell does one go about finding a place to live in Cardiff? Where's a good place to live? How do I get all my stuff out there? And on and on and on. At the very least, this stuff won't become an issue for another eight months, but it's hard not to think about. If you have any idea how to answer these questions, let me know (I am waiting for the obligatory "Well, I own a property in Treforest..." from Cheeky).
I have also found it hard to drop back into my usual routine. I think it may be residual jet lag, but there is also a sense that everything has become temporary. I was sitting at my desk today, looking at the picture of my wife and me with WWE legend Mick Foley and thinking: "I should take that home today."

Kossover, if you are reading this, I bought you Jaffa Cakes. The sooner you collect them, the better your chances of actually receiving them before I choose to eat them.

What if you had way too much time on your hands?

Snow white and the seven gnomes.

Out of context, this sentence makes the story sound far more interesting than it actually is: "Downey said she started keeping a journal of everything she put in her mouth, and she said that alone revealed a lot."

Olympic Morris dancing. Make your own jokes. And if fellas waving handkerchiefs is incorporated into the 2012 Olympic Opening Ceremony, Welsh sure as hell better play a role. I have visions of a massive group of Welshies just sort of yammering away -- not really singing, because I can't sing -- and my weaseling my way into being a part of it.