Happy father's day

It's hot as hell in Martirio, but the papers on the porch are icy with the news.

I'm up early, but the sun beat me to it. I say my farewells, grab my rucksack and head out into the glorious morning. In Castlecraig, some patients are already sitting at the halfway house picnic table, soaking up the rays and smoking roll ups.

At the main road my BiggHaIr taxi is waiting. He takes me to Glasgow airport and the conversation is good.

Through security quickly, a quick bowl of porridge in the lounge, and its onto the plane. I read, listen to Radio 4 downloads, watch a movie, and even do some work. Seven hours later I walk off the plane, get through US Global Entry in minutes and am waiting on the humid sidewalk for the Alamo courtesy bus.

An hour later, I've deposited my bags in Phoenixville and I'm ironing my shirts for the week. Then I stroll down to Stable 12 and sit under a sunshade in their beer garden, drink beer and read a biography of Alan Turing. I eat a plate of deep fried gherkins. Interesting.

Dinner at the new Japanese restaurant on Bridge Street. They are trying to modernise sashimi by drizzling onion chutney or marmalade over some of the fish. I don't approve. The Mexican grocery doesn't have either of the ice lollies that I really like, so I get a stick of frozen strawberries.

Back on 1st Avenue I'm glad of the ceiling fan.