Grand Theatre

You see, there are still faint glimmers of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity. Indeed that's what we provide in our own modest, humble, insignificant ...

It's a rugby day for the boys in the house. The match is in Blackheath and they need to be there before 10, so it's a relatively early start. Tim throws his Beamer along a refreshingly empty M25, depositing me at Blackheath station.

A sunny journey to Charing Cross and the Paddington, where I have a two hour wait. I drink an expensive coffee and get frustrated by their wifi. I stock up on M&S goodies and make myself comfortable on the short journey to Bristol Parkway.

At Bristol, we get herded onto buses to Newport or Cardiff. It's lucky it's not raining, because there's absolutely no cover. The bus I'm ushered onto is full of people and has a significant population of flies too. I wonder which part of it is decomposing.

At Cardiff I catch a slow train to Swansea. It only has two carriages - standing room only for those unfortunate to be waiting at the wrong end of the platform. I'm seated opposite a small child, whose short legs swing constantly, occasionally kicking me gently. He gets off after a few stops.

My Airbnb is ten minutes from the station. I check in, tidy up my slides, and head to the Panshee opposite the Grand Theatre. Swansea is wet, dark, and empty, but the restaurant is mobbed. It may have something to do with their Sunday £8.95 menu, but the food is pretty good too.