I think that banks suck, despite them giving us the opportunity to have a "Bank Holiday, Long Weekend." It's is very difficult to get moving on a Saturday morning. Very difficult, indeed, when your nice warm cozy bed is filled with lovable Beloved. Looking all cuddly and sleepy. As a result, we got to the bank exactly 2 minutes before closing.
Teller: "You filthy rotten bastards."

We attended a folky-fishing festival full of the who's who of British Fishing. I didn't spot anybody I recognised.
Rex Hunt failed to attend. Bastard.
There was lots of everything else to be seen though. Many tents full of many fishy-smelling individuals selling their wares. Beloved dragged me around all of the tents to inspect all of the fishing tackle. I kept reassuring him that his tackle was just fine thankyouverymuch but he didn't get the joke. We left about 8 hours later, with three brand new reels and 2 keep-nets. I have a sneaking suspicion I may be given fishing lessons next weekend.

At the Carn-i-VAL for the Monday Holiday! Lots of big healthy women, shaking their big healthy bodies to reggae and throbbing bass. I donned a pair of rabbit ears and gave it a bit of a shake, but Beloved refused to shake his booty. He has a well established dance-phobia that I'm just going to have to do something about. Not even helium filled "Ernie" balloon would boost his confidence. I would have a more specific review of the biggest festival held in London, but put quite simply - there were too many people.

It seems now, however, that the weekend is over.
I'm back at work, staring at the same old monitor answering the same old phone calls.

"Computer2000, thisisJacquispeaking. Howmayihelpyou?"