And here I am, a couple of days after it's all over for another year, back on my bed still trying to come to terms with the changes of the past couple of weeks. Arriving back in London early, Adam having chosen a clever route in back to Brixton that circumnavigated the worst of the bomb-inspired traffic jams, we expected our final show to be cancelled. With the roads stationary and the Victoria Line, essential for a trip to Brixton, not reaching past Victoria it looked like we'd have a crowd of four (Shamir, Cath, Jess and Stu from Shooter HQ...)

In their absence, Chris and Adams' flatmates had filled their entire house with ash and empty cans of redbull and sitting in the sticky late afternoon heat with the contents of Betty piled up around us in the kitchen everything felt messy and wrong. We were, we still are, utterly exhausted and the thought of trying to crank it all up again for a big empty room was almost too depressing for words. However a deal is a deal...

We were utterly amazed by the reception we got. Stu had text us (you're right Leslie, this is grammatically correct if nonsensical) to say that there were at his guess, about forty people waiting but as the four us walked into the cinema it sounded like the full house we had previously anticipated. I'm not sure what the final figure was but, though it was naturally much smaller than it would otherwise have been, it was a massive jump from what I'd expected.

Genuinely touched by everyone's willingness to brave traffic chaos and the threat of disaster I delivered my rambling introductions for the last time. I think I made less sense than ever but the crowd applauded the films louder and longer than I'd ever heard and by the time 'Little Terrorist' ended the programme for the last time I suddenly realised that this probably had been a resounding success after all.


After the show Cath and Jess gave Lee and I a lift to Finsbury Park train station. It was only eleven o'clock and yet the streets were clear of cars and empty of people. At the station I put down my bags to ask when the last train is, (or, as it turns out, was) and am reprimanded in a low hurt voice for leaving a bag unattended. As Lee and I again climb into a taxi, this time one that will finally take us both home, I am reminded again what a hard, strange, journey this has been.

To return to the musical metaphor of which we're all so fond, it's bit a difficult second album. Broader, deeper, creatively more adventurous but probably slightly harder to love. If I'm honest it wasn't until we played Manchester or Leeds that I found I really adored these films in the same way that I still adore the first programme. I think it took me that long to realise what these films were - not the delightful short films of last year, but a darker, more thoughtful and actually more compelling sample of the new wave of British film.

The other thing it taught me is the value and the strength of the Mobile Cinema. First time round it was fun, a gimmick, an adventure. The second trip has been much harder, the highs higher, the lows tougher - the response stronger. Everywhere we went people insisted that we had to come again and already people have called me asking for advanced booking for a screening next year. In two years we've gone from a freak show to a fixture and that is both a delight and a challenge. Of course we want to do a third tour, of course we want to build on the success that we've had already - but to do that we depend utterly on you.

After the show on Thursday various filmmakers approached me and thanked me for doing this. Truth is - it's a pleasure, it's a passion - as long as the films are good. I honestly believe that thanks to Shooting People we are at the start of a very exciting time in British Filmmaking - but only if we keep making outstanding films. I am very fond of all eight of the films we showed this year and I think all are of the very highest standard. That is the standard that you need to beat. If year one was an experiment, year two is a challenge.

There is an audience in the UK for films that speak honestly about our life. If you can make a film that makes the heart skip, the pulse race, the lungs splutter with laughter then I can find you packed cinemas, front rooms, fields, pubs and schools who want to see it. Stephen, James, Jo, Simon, Dictynna, Dishad, Lee, David, Jake, Tom, Nicola, Scott and Asvhin have all made those films - now it's your turn.

I have always found motorways unsettling, uncertain places. Stretching for mile after mile the landscape is bland, familiar, nowhere. You could be on the M25 or the M1, you could be anywhere and equally, of course, you aren't anywhere, not yet, you're just on a motorway.

The screening this lunch time in Cambridge was really nice. Arriving early the bookshop and internet cafe where we were playing seemed preoccupied with it's own thing and I was a little worried that no one would turn up for the films and those that were there would ask us to be quiet so that they could read.

I needn't have worried, not our largest crowd but attentive and supportive and by the time we finish it feels like we've created a really nice atmosphere. As they applaud I can feel my shoulders relax - we're almost there, we're almost home, one more show and one that should be big enough to get our adrenaline pumping and our work will be done. Feeling good I reach for a sandwich and then Emily, our host, comes in with the bad news.

We are now on a motorway heading towards London, where four more explosions have gone off. Thankfully no one has been hurt. At the moment it appears the tube, or at least Brixton's all important Victoria Line, is shut and the roads are either closed or jammed. Currently our plan is to go ahead with the screening as planned, though I expect our audience will be less than the sell out we expected.

Not that I'm actually that fussed. Our whole trip has been overshadowed by the first bombs and the waves that followed them. Our departure from London was delayed by the first explosions, our arrival in Shetland postponed due to the traffic we hit for the Scottish G8 summit which may well have been significant in the bomb timings. We were in Leeds as the first suspects were being rounded up and the closer we have got to London the more it's been on my mind.

And now here we are, right back where we started - somewhere on a motorway.

We're in Cambridge an hour early and the streets are full of gormless looking people wandering in the roads which is quite frustrating.

On the good side, thanks to Stu, there are finally a load of pictures in the blog from the past few days... goes back as far as Coventry on Sunday...

But with no boats. Or a race. But we are heading from Oxford to Cambridge which seems to guarantee that we'll be faced with mild disdain at either end of our trip... "Where are you going next? Cambridge, why, it's shit...?" "Where were you this morning, Oxford, bet you're glad to get out of that shit hole..."

Anyway, just thought I'd say sorry to Robert Windsor... especially as we weren't that far away from you and it would have been great to get down to you. You need to be quicker of the mark I guess...

Oh and sorry Simon... the map thing doesn't seem to have been working on my computer... I'll colour it in when I get home.

Much love.

Quite unexpectedly we arrived at the Six Bells early and without crashing. It's an idyllic spot, a favourite location for both Miss Marple and Midsommer Murders, a scattering of wooden tables, white walls, thatched roof, a dog sitting by the landlord's feet and a family of ducklings living in the back garden. There are cricket sights on the village green and as we sit in the sunshine with glasses of rich brown beer all we lack is a bicycling nun to complete the idiot fantasy of what England is supposed to be. As the ducklings pile into the water tub at the side of the garden it's hard not to fall in love with it all and it's harder to still to pull up some energy to actually put some films on.

The pub is owned by Ben but run by his son Charles and daughter-in-law Seobohan and they suggest we screen outside, which seems like a good idea, partly because it's a beautiful spot and there's more room out there, but mainly because it means we can't start 'till about half nine and that gives us plenty of time.

We've been invited here by Chuck East, an American... I was about to write filmmaker but after our conversations last night I think story teller is a probably more accurate. I first met Chuck some years ago, largely by accident and we've stayed in touch ever since. He breezes in at about half eight and buys us drinks before popping home to get hold of a jumper, something which shows his wisdom since by the time we screen it's actually quite nippy and we have to lend our Shetland sheep skins to the three women who've come down from the Oxford Film And Video Makers.

The audience is small, about ten or eleven including a handful of locals and a table of Russians. At first the Russians seem to enjoy it but they lose interest half-way through and start talking, presuming that because we can't understand them we can't hear them either. "Free Speech" stuns them into temporary silence by being rude but apart from that they seem more interested in lager and shouting.

It's strange. I'm standing outside a perfect picture of England, chatting with an American and some drunk Russians. It's like every cold war dream has come true. Now there are Russians who are just as loud and obnoxious as Americans traditionally are. What a wonderful world.

To be fair, any world with room for a Chuck East in it is actually pretty wonderful. He's from Texas via Seattle, though to my utterly untrained ear he sounds Californian. He speaks softly in long lilting sentences and by the end of the night all four of us are sat round a table listening to him as he talks about American politics, filmmaking, story telling and grunge. Of it all it is stories that he is most passionate about. He sees everything as story, and story telling as the most important human activity "It tells us who were are" he says with a shrug "And you know, that's why I said I didn't want to say which film I thought was best, it's so not about best, you know. What matters is that people are telling stories and that they keep telling stories. You know, I don't like the way that people become conditioned to judge a film by, well, you get people saying "I'm not sure I liked the editing there" or "I think the end credits are too long" and I think, yeah, but what did you think about the story?"


Sometime after midnight Chuck ambles home and we draw straws. Me and Lee sleep in the van and Adam and Chris get to put up the tent with the ducks. It's our last night on the road and having spent so much time this tour living in Betty and sleeping out I'm actually quite relieved to be doing it again. Even if my feet still hang off the end...

We've had to rush off the motorway to give Betty a drink and it's slightly thrown our navigation. An old man stands at a bus stop in a blue shell suit with with black eye, the summer breeze blowing through his thinning hair as he glowers at us.

Lee asks if we're going to have a major crash before the tour is finished and this freaks Chris and Adam out. Lee shrugs "I don't believe in fate. I just believe that everything happens for a reason."

What's more scary is that since then Chris has taken to laughing manically and over taking people whilst shouting "Yeah, yeah, we're doing it! We're doing it!" He's not even has his Redbull allowance yet...

Still it's one of those blissful mid-summer's evenings and we're rolling into England's soft underb belly. Whilst I doubt we'll be early for the show tonight, it's impossible to imagine anything too bad happening....

As you might have gathered from the last post I wrote yesterday, we had some small difficulty in finding the house boat we were meant to be screening on. This is strange because you'd think all we'd need to do is head towards the sea but it's been a long couple of weeks and the streets of Shoreham were deserted.

It's a funny little town to spend a Tuesday night in. Much like Aberdeen it had the same sense of being far away but whilst Aberdeen had it's own unique bustle, Shoreham, which of course is much smaller, feels rather more like the fat kid sitting on the side of the room on his own in "School Of Life."

It's a close summer evening and the air is rich with salt and the occasional invigorating kiss of sea air. The Police are dealing with a domestic, further down the street are a couple of teenage girls but Adam won't let us ask them directions in case Lee gets accused of being a pedophile again. Further still are some lads hanging around a car but no one is sure if we can trust them to give us useful or truthful directions.

Realising we've been heading the wrong we turn Betty round and soon the suburban houses give way to sandy marshes and then there they are - a collection of large and motionless boats beached and moored on cracked sand. Some are small, some are ramshackle, some are neat, some are hand painted, some are hand crafted. There's a vast grey battle cruiser and one part made out of a fire engine.

As we wind to a stop Ray and Julia come and meet us and lead us to the boat upon which we're screening. Not theirs, but their neighbour Hamish's. Houseboat Verda is a sight to behold. Apparently he bought it for £200 from the guy who'd been paid a couple of thousand to cut it up. It had been a submerged wreck for sometime and when he got hold of her she was full of mud which he had to dig out. He's since rebuilt her from scratch. Part boat, part bus, she is the sort of boat that a character from a Professor Branestawm story would live on.

Indeed the whole community down here could have come from the same pages, or from one of Margery Allingham's detective stories and brilliantly I know this because most of them are waiting for us when we climb aboard. The Verda is largeish but even so, by the time the screen is up and the projector is running the room is packed to the rafters with something like sixty and standing room only at the back by the bar. Some are Shooters, including Filmmakers Editor Marvin and his friends who have come up from Brighton, but mostly these are just the families and people who live on the boats.

They're a fantastic audience. I'm not sure if it's because a fair few of them are artists of one hue or another, or if it's just because like so many of the wilder places we've played, they're just delighted to have something come to them at long last. Whatever the reasons they love the films. "My Back Garden" is greeted with instant roars of applause, "All Over Brazil" brings the Slade fans clapping from the far corners, "Unrequited" receives it's second delighted response of the day and "Little Terrorist" brings the house down.
























It's the biggest show of the tour so far and with the gulls calling from the channel out the window it's hard to remember that there are still three performances to go. With most of the crowd making their way home down the gang plank we watch a film by Tom Tom. He's a local guy, about our age who spends most of his time playing drums in various different bands around the area. He made the film, "Mines Eye" whilst at Uni and it's quite brilliant. A surreal series of strange events centered around a guy waking up it is one of the most consistently inventive films I've seen in ages. It mixes animation, special effects and again that appealing W.Heath Robinson sense of chaotic invention and skewed logic which seems to characterise life down here.







We retire to Julia and Ray's boat next door and eat fantastic home made dhal with lime pickle and yogurt and drink glass after glass of Ray's excellent home brewed ale. Life down here is appealing. As Adam and I carried the screen onto the Verda I grinned at him and said "One day mate you'll end up living here" at the time he looked confused but by the evening he is already planning his boat. I think the lack of ceiling height would bring me down after a while and Lee moans that he can't sleep unless he can hear a motorway but I must admit I'll be very surprised if this wonderful and idiosyncratic community has seen the last of Cpt. Brown.




















In the morning we go down to the sea and watch the beautiful green waves curl up onto the stones of the beach. A teenager in pink pushes her pram beneath the belisha beacons on the sea road. We've not managed the West coast or the East this time round but standing here at our most southerly point with a row of white beach huts stretched out behind us it feels good to have spanned the country. With sea air in our lungs we turn round and go back to Betty to start heading North again...

Hallo mate... you're right, we'd completely missed your post. It's meant to email me when new stuff comes in but it never really seems to - so thanks for giving us a shout.

Moreover thanks for writing that and if anyone missed it then please do flick back a couple of pages and click on the comment under Chris' post about tips on shooting your first short because Craig's story is... well... it's funny, it's sad and it's pretty much how it is and everyone in this van salutes him. We even paused Slade while I read it out.

Though Chris did laugh when you said one day you'd be like us, "Yeah, skint and sweaty in the back of a van"

Reminded me of the first shorts Chris and I made when we were like eighteen, nineteen or so. Living near London I think we had more luck with actors actually turning up to auditions but that actually just meant our hit rate of complete lunatics was higher. I especially remember the guy who tried to chat me up by telling he'd once met Mike Scott from the Waterboys in the toilets of a pub and I had the same aura. During the audition he also invented an entire back story for his character which involved his father being "A crap inventor who makes wax and spoons and that's why he's so down, because he's really embarrassed about his Dad." For a while he'd ring be every few months to ask if the film (which I'd told him had been cancelled) was going to get shot after all and remind me that he had once painted Emma Thompson's house.

Or there was the Belgian girl who turned up an hour late with a grey hound and a small flower which she gave me as a gift. She couldn't really read English very much but insisted that this was because she didn't have her contacts in.

Anyway mate you have my respect and my sympathy. Actually, have you been to our website? I was just about to start off on some of the more enjoyable disasters we've had ourselves but they're largely chronicled in too much depth at www.charlieproductions.co.uk (click on our Our Story...)

I'm not going to say keep on because it's obvious that you will but keep in touch. If there's anything we can do to help you out then just ask man - the Mobile Cinema hot line at the top of the page is my mobile so call us when we're not living on sofas. And if there is anyone else reading this in the Preston area then give Craig a shout.

Chris wonders if you've been able to get into the Manchester scene? There are plenty of quality Manchester based actors and a load of good good people working their guts out up there...

Oh and I must say that for both Chris and I it's Mac all the way baby... though talking to Ashley the other day and I mentioned my deep seated love of the opaque aesthetic of milk and suggested that this was behind our shared love the Mac... my laptop looks like it's a large square pint of milk...

Anyway - cheers Craig. Thanks for coming to see the films in Southport and thanks for writing all that.

Oh and Cariad - iif you melted that only makes you liquid gold. I bet you money... well I'm not finishing that sentence but you know what I mean. xxx.

OK... sorry for the extended silence this morning, and indeed since last night and double sorry for the continued lack of pictures. You're missing some gems I tell you, the two yellow VW's, Lee's fan face, the boats of Shoreham were we were last night...

I was going to email them to Stu back at Shooter HQ so that he could put them up for me, but the battery has died in my laptop so that'll have to wait until we hit Oxford and it's hopefully bountiful supply of plug sockets.

It's a beautiful day down here on the South Coast and we're just leaving Brighton having finally plucked up the courage to buy an 'All Over Brazil' inspired Slade CD and it feels good. Or Gud as I imagine Noddy and the boys would write it. It's been a tour of musical surprises. From the astonishing discovery of Celtic-Reggae Gods Paddy Rasta in Aberdeen to our group evangelical conversion to the Kingz of Noize and the originators of cool dyslexia. Just think without Slade there would be no Hip Hop.

Oh... anyone wanting to come to the Ritzy? I think there are still a few tickets for sale - click on the link on the side there...

Julia... answer the phone! We're driving round Shoreham... can't find you! Call us! I can see the sea! Much Love...

Ok - we've done it. Not quite to the southern most tip of England but we're most definitely on the south coast which means we've finally managed to span the whole of the Untied Kingdom... and I have to say I can't think of a better way to have done it than with the screening we've just pulled off in Arch 10.

Arch 10 (if it has a less prosaic title then I've forgotten it and I'm sorry... if it doesn't then I think the cave is quite a good suggestion) is one of a series of arches under a road bridge that has just been turned over to a group of seven artists as part of an attempt to bring some apparently much needed creative focus to the city. For this year the seven get to work in it for free, the year after there's an adjacent arch which will be heavily subsidised. It's a great opportunity and the group, all women and all working in different disciplines, are all champing at the bit.

There's a fantastic feeling in the place - a real sense of something good just starting and it's a privilege to be the first people to screen in what was, until recently, a storeroom. Or, to be more precise, a store tunnel. White painted bricks and a low ceiling give the place the air of a bunker and as the audience settle on sofas and cushions Lee claps his hands together "It's like the Blitz" he grins "And you know, it couldn't have been so bad then could it because this is quite nice isn't it?"

The room is packed but thankfully, being underground, it remains quite cool. They love the comedies, Folie A Deux has never been funnier, My Back Garden gets instant applause that almost drowns out the last line from Lee's Mum and when the joke finally kicks in with Free Speech it's one of the most satisfying feelings I've had all tour. Unrequited is a special favourite and for the first time it wins the audience award and after the show no one can praise it highly enough.

This is a very film savvy audience, a very arts savvy audience and a very smart audience. Matt puts forward a genius suggestion as to the significance of the egg shot at the end of "All Over Brazil". It's one of the shots that I love best out of all the films and I have no reason for this other than, well, I love it. Matt however pins it - "It's the end of the film and it's about the family getting back together, three eggs in the pan and she mixes them up." Adam grins - "Thank you mate, that's given me the strength to watch it again!"

They're all fired up and the after show discussion soon becomes a raging debate with Lee in the middle trying to keep order by shouting "Don't think of me as David Dimbleby or nothing but think of me as David Dimbleby in my Cave Of Film!"

Chrishna, who arrived late and only saw the last three films is stinging in his complaints. He hates "Little Terrorist" for being too easy - "I think it's lazy for a British filmmaker to go to India and film their problems. We have problems here that you could focus on, I mean, I could just go round the corner from this place and you've got it all there. That story is nothing more than a boy going scrumping apples, you know? And it's only because he's gone and plonked it in India that everyone goes 'oh wow'."

I wonder what he thought of 'Last Christmas', a film which to me seems exactly like the sort of story he is advocating - I'm wrong though - "I thought that was so lazy. Lazy, lazy filmmaking. I mean he's supposed to be a junkie and yet he's got these sculptured sideburns. If he's supposed to be a junkie when is he going to have time to do that. You know you're only making a film but you've got to be better than that, you've got to care about what you're doing, you can't be lazy like that otherwise there's no point."

And for completeness he hates 'Free Speech' because "The guy has his hands over her tits all the time and that's just not natural, you know and it feels uncomfortable and there are other ways of filming that, from like a lower or a higher angle or whatever..."

No one else agrees with him about "Little Terrorist" and everyone argues about it at length. Surprisingly for me though, "Last Christmas" is generally disliked. Clint, a sound recordist is blunt "I couldn't hear what they were saying and after a while I just thought - actually I don't care either..."

When we move onto the Mobile Cinema as a whole, Chrishna is just as down - "It's like, you say these people are at the cutting edge of filmmaking or something but of the three films I saw I mean both Little Terrorist and Free Speech are really really mainstream. They look like films that are going to be expanded into much bigger films and I think that's bad you know, I don't find that inspirational. And I mean you talk about Oscars but I mean the 'Sound Of Music' won Oscars, who gives a shit..."

Things look they're about to kick off - he's angry and defensive and he can feel that the room is largely against him. I'm a little riled myself, mainly by his dismissal of 'Last Christmas' because of the guys sideburns, I mean shit, as Lee points out Sid Vicious had time to style his hair...

When I try to explain that he's missed most of the programme and we need to include mainstream films like 'Free Speech' and 'Little Terrorist' and how the Oscars may not matter to people like me or him it really does matter to the rest of the world, he starts rambling about how all people are different and then tries to suggest that we haven't been screening to, well, exactly the people we have been screening to (an argument he's not going to win...)

Chris lays it on the line, silencing the room without even standing up "The point is man that we screen these films all over the country. We're not doing this for an audience who go to see short films, we're doing it for everyone and that includes people who never get to see films like this ever. I mean we've been up in the West Midlands - where do you see short films in the West Midlands? If you're in Stroud or a little place like that? You can't, you have to go to Soho or something. We're not doing this only for people who watch short films or who make short films, we're doing this for everyone."

There is a round of applause.

I do my best to pull him back into the room "Look, you may not believe me and you're not looking me in the face so I guess you're pretty angry but, seriously man - thank you. I mean we've travelled from the far North to the far South and everywhere we go people have told us how wonderful we are and it's great to meet someone who has the guts to stand up and question the validity of what we're doing. That's important you know, I mean earlier, we were talking about me dismissing the other films I was sent in and, yeah, like I said, when I called them all rubbish I was joking, sort of, but I do mean it because most of them are and I think it's really important that, as filmmakers, we have the strength to stand up and say that something is rubbish when it is. We never do though, because everyone is scared that you might be the next big thing and then they'll look stupid. I mean I see it happen, I ask people if they liked my film and they look me up and down and think "Yeah, I like his style, I can see him in Time Out, yeah Ben, yeah I loved your film" and they're lying and it doesn't help anyone. Because, audiences don't. That's the important thing. Audiences don't say 'Well done for trying', they either like your stuff or they don't and until filmmakers start doing the same we'll never make the sort of films that we should be."

I'm tired and I slightly lose the thread by the end but I still get a resounding round of applause which sounds even better in the cave. It's great. I'm afraid that Chrishna slunk off without staying to make friends afterwards and I think that's a shame because I think he's been one of the most interesting people we've met on the tour so far. He is a filmmaker, though during the argument he sullenly and rather pretentiously claims that all he is does is 'clean dishes', and it's fantastic to meet a filmmaker who has such fire in his belly.


After a moments pause for breath we screen a couple of films by our hosts, Laura and Alys. Laura's film is an utterly compelling piece of experimental super8. She's attacked a roll of film in various different ways, scratching, cutting, covering it in sap, burying it, to try and make something that talks about all the stuff that goes on in the world without us noticing, all the natural stuff that takes place quietly and without our intervention. She's working with a musician, DJ B, and I absolutely loved it. On the whole I'm not a fan of experimental stuff or anything without a narrative... but I thought this was utterly compelling and beautiful, especially screened in the cave where the soundtrack could reverberate all around the walls.

Alys' film is a three minute animation for Channel Fours Animator In Residence season. It's a fantastic film about a girl who runs away from home for the day and not only are some of her drawings absolutely perfect but the whole film perfectly captures the way that as a child you're able to live in single moments.

Finally we screen a piece by Dave who wrong foots us by asking everyone not to watch it. It's designed as a projection for a tent or a gig or in a tree during a festival and I must admit that my cynic's 'toss' alert starting to ring at that point. Astonishingly though I once again found his work perfect. It's a single shot of a fan rotating on it's axis as, filmed as if it were a real fan stood the way of the projector (so that we see the shadow it casts rather than the fan itself).

"I'm a fan of fans" he says deprecatingly and I can understand why. There is something mesmeric about it and, perhaps because it's not a fan but the shadow cast by one, there is also something mysterious and astonishingly compelling. Since Dave insists it's not really designed for a screen we pick up the projector and beam it onto the walls... this seems less satisfactory so instead we beam it onto the back of Lee's head. Then his face, then my face, then Lee's belly.





With the fun over we drift into the next room and drink steaming hot mugs of tea. After being up 'till three last night talking to Liz and then waking up at eight to completely fail to get the van packed in time for the Southampton show I should be really knackered and part of me is. But there is so much good feeling in this place and so much energy from all our audience that I can't help but feel wide awake and very happy.

Les... no need to apologise mate don't be daft. Sorry we didn't get to the pub after our curry... bright lights of Buxton fair and all that... see you next year.

Cariad... details of the Ritzy? Erm... it's in Brixton just up from the tube just round the corner from that Noodle place... times and stuff you mean? Gosh... Jess? Shamir? All I know is I'm going to wear a bright yellow boiler suit like I'm in the beastie boys.

Woody... can't wait for the tape mate. To miss Geeta's food once is a misfortune to lose both parents looks like carelessness. Cheers dude.

Dips... sir you are true gent... see you next time too (next time I'll try and be awake with energy rather than fear)

Rachael... when you've finished galavanting around Malaysia drop us a line, the cake will be endless and the coffee will be non-stop.

Oh and oi - Pascoe and the Chariman of KMR Corp Intl..... silence is golden but I thrive on the hard currency of attention. Feed my monkey....

Messages end...

In the playground just over there in Bath. Ahhh happy days.

Right we've also been stuck behind a huge piece of agricultural machinery which hasn't been that much fun so although Chris has just slipped Betty into light speed, or at least 60mph, I think we're going to be late for Southampton... watch this space...

In the meantime I'm going to try and finally upload all the pictures from the past few days....

Ok we're running a little late because we hit really bad traffic in Bristol, mainly because two lorries seemed to have just got really depressed by the whole lorry thing and had just sort of given up in the middle of the road.

This did however give Adam and Lee a useful break to make a mercy dash to a bakers who had a fantastic special offer on.

Cakey happiness.