Not bad for an old man …

After P. departed, still whistling and looking cheerful (a look he still possessed 9 hours later when he arrived at the coast, by the way) I staggered across the road to the nearest public toilet and had one of those moments you'd rather not have.

Standing in front of the urinal I realised my hands were too frozen to actually undo the button on my shorts. The only thought that ran through my head was "I'm almost 30-years-old and I'm about to wet my pants".

Luckily, I managed to force the button open with my frozen clumps (formerly known as hands) and the crisis ended in a warm stream heading in the right direction.

Next it was onto the phone booth and the call of shame. I phoned my father, who owns a ute, and asked if he was busy ... then spent the next hour thawing out in front of an open fire in a lovely cafe called The Outsider. My parents arrived, had a good laugh at my expense, and bundled me into the car for the return journey.

I arrived home to a much-amused C., who struggled to keep a straight face at the sight of my sorry state.

A hot shower and fresh clothes made me feel much better (though I'm not sure I'll every get the chill out of my bones). The better feeling rapidly departed with the arrival of C2 and L, who were to take us down the coast. The jibes flowed and continued to flow all weekend. So much so that I have been re-christened "Captain Flat" by my work colleagues.

It seems like the name will stick ...

... Still it could be worse.

Happy birthday to me.