One of my favourite places in the world is Llandudno, an old-fashioned seaside town on the North Wales coast, where I took my fella for his 40th birthday this week. I think the average age of people who live there is 65, and clearly time has stood still - there are still shops which sell things like gollywogs (I always scream and point at them in horror when I see them). We always stay in the Imperial Hotel on the seafront (it has creaking floors and out of date decor but it's about the best place there is). This time we even paid a visit to "Mint Condition", the hotel gym, although there were so many rules and regulations - guests weren't allowed to use the changing rooms for some reason so you are expected to get changed in your room and parade downstairs in a white terry-towelling dressing-gown, that it hardly seemed worth it).
The trip was enhanced considerably by the fact that there are so many mad people in Llandudno, who don't seem capable of self-censorship. We heard so many bizarre conversations from weirdos ("she married her childhood sweetheart!", "they didn't order MANGO TEA!", "and he looked the spit of David Dickinson") that it was like walking into an episode of Little Britain or The League of Gentleman. And I love it when ordinary people start talking in Welsh in front of me, because I like to think they are talking about me. Even though it was raining, freezing cold and windy most of the time, it is still a wonderful, magical place.
I have been getting lots of emails (OK, 3) about playing gay waterpolo. I have been four times now, and scored a goal (I think that's what they're called ) on Tuesday. I have never scored a goal before in anything, so it felt like quite an achievement. My swimming is also improving a lot - the instructor didn't shout at me at all last week.