The power of gin

I'd need a couple of gins, at least, before I'd have the courage to do that.
I do think, though, if you're going to have anything written on something crazy and dangerous requiring lots of courage, it should be "Gin" - maybe even with an exclamation mark.

We saw this chap gearing for take-off at Crow Point. We'd cycled there - me Tess, and Richard. The light was gloomy, the clouds were annoying and I was experiencing some of the physical and emotional effects of the latest bout of anxiety. So a cycle ride and a flying man were just what I needed.

We'd cycled along the old Toll road, where they still charge: 20 pence per bike these days. Not bad.
It's one of the nicest routes for photos, but not on this day. The camera was like my brain: "More light!" it screamed.

(Aside: I've just found myself thinking my mother wouldn't like the way I've reinvented the paragraph)

I'm writing this 2 days later and trying to remember what else happened. I know Gemma missed her connecting train back from Cardiff, and Richard had to drive to Tiverton to pick her up. He probably didn't mind too much because it was an escape from fitting blinds - which we both hate and are both totally rubbish at.