There is a long pause.

“I think,” I begin, speaking slowly and softly as I collect my thoughts, “I think that it’s a fairly common thing for father to feel… to feel as if they take last place in the family unit. It’s not jealousy as such – it’s just that the man often gets overlooked and ends up – illogical as it might seem – feeling a bit neglected. And that’s just a bit poignant today of all days.”

There is a sigh from the end of the telephone wire. “I’m sorry we’re not there,” admits the LTLP, who is away with the Toddler. “Have you made yourself some breakfast?”

“Yes,” I reply. “And thanks for leaving the card. It was nice. It would just be good to… I… well, anyway. I’ll see you when I see you.”

I ring off.

“It’s brilliant!” I say to Short Tony in the Village Pub, 0.00001 seconds later. “I had a really nice breakfast, get to go to the pub AND get the sympathy points. Could I have another pint, please? And later on, I can watch the cricket and motor racing and then perhaps listen to some Jethro Tull.”

“Even though motor racing is shit,” I add, taking a roast potato from the bowl on the bar, and passing them to Len the Fish. “But it’s the principle of the thing.”

We sway down the road some time later. Father’s Day!!! I am feeling particularly manly after beer, roast potatoes and several large Martini Rossos. Time for more man-stuff.

“Mmmm – that’s good,” I breathe, as I roll the soft texture of Len the Fish’s tongue around my mouth.

“I’ve cured a huge batch,” he says. “Would you like me to cut you some to take back with you? And I tell you what – I brewed some elderflower champagne.”

Most of the elderflower champagne has exploded, but he gives Short Tony and I an unexploded bottle each. I look at it, very impressed. My bottle erupts almost immediately, the cork narrowly missing my face as it shoots skywards in the direction of Fakenham.

“It’s a little lively still,” he admits.

We drink elderflower champagne and munch on tongue. It is a shame that we have been neglected on this, our special day, and sad that I have been forced to spend it alone and miserable.

I upgraded the whole Wordpress thing last night, having put this off for months and months, never having found the exact suitable moment.

Unfortunately, the exact suitable moment turned out to be at about eleven o’clock on a Saturday night when I was a bit pissed. I haven’t found anything too amiss with it this morning, but if you do find things going alarmingly wrong then please let me know in the comments box.

Other administrativey news stuff

Ooops – I logged on to Facebook yesterday and there were about a grillion friend requests, some of which were very, very old. Booooooo – I am rude. Sorry if you have sent me a request, and think me rude. I only really set up that account so I could leave a message on the Bizarre Appreciation Society to thank Oli and now Lawrence for setting it up. Although I don’t use Facebook, I am a bit more sociable on Twitter especially now I have worked out how to see replies that people have sent to you. So please do say ‘hello’ there.

And other

I’ve been sniggering stupidly at Bête de Jour’s book (‘The Intimate Adventures of an Ugly Man’), especially the bits about Dartford. (If you are an angry resident of Dartford, you can ’search inside’ via the link, and type in ‘Dartford’, and then perhaps get your face in the local paper, holding the book, with a cross expression on your face). It is available, believe it or not, from Amazon – very much recommended.

Thank you for your patience during the Essential Maintenance, and for your continued enjoyment of my Private Secret Diary.

Essential!!! Hahahahaha!!!!!

It has a sauna!!!

I stare at it, agog. Granted, it is a bit more like a giant grill than the real thing, but its saunaness greatly exceeds anything that I had been expecting. This is brilliant.

“There’s a big fuck-off flat screen TV!!!” I exclaim gleefully, as the LTLP and Toddler trudge in with their bags. “Hang on – there’s a flat screen in my bedroom!!! All of our bedrooms!!! OMG OMG Wifi LOL LOL,” (I paraphrase).

This is the most excellent start to a holiday that I have ever had. Even the weather is better than expected. I love Center Parcs. Honestly, there is nothing, nothing at all that can put a downer on my mood right now.

“Where shall I put my bags?” asks my Mother-in-Law.

A small black cloud drifts across the sun.

“I have to apologise for him,” remarks the LTLP. “He is going to be in a foul mood later, as he can find nothing to complain about.”

But she is wrong I am in a state of holiday serenity as the LTLP organises wardrobe space and wrestles to get the oven on.

Later, the LTLP’s parents have to be pulled from the Subtropical Swimming Paradise by lifeguards, in front of a large throng of holidaymakers. The LTLP stomps up to me, her face like thunder, her swimming costume having been pulled off in the rescue attempt. But I am happily bobbing around on a lazy backstroke, a big smile on my face. Give me a few more tattoos and I could well become a regular here.

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There is Wi-fi access, smuggled past the guards.

I am still in Camp Center Parcs, wondering what will happen to me. We arrived six – seven? – days ago, and were immediately taken to a group of huts by the gates, for processing. Our paperwork was stamped – thank God it was all in order – and we were allocated a berth accordingly.

One of the horrors of this place is that whilst families might arrive together, the camp authorities deliberately do not change this state of affairs. We eat, exercise, sleep together. Food we have to scrape together ourselves, or is provided from places featuring laminated menus. Comforts are small, such as the maid service and jacuzzi.

God willing, this post will reach the outside world. I have met a man who promises that he can arrange it that I can leave tomorrow. I do not know whether this is true, or will turn out to be yet one more small cruelty. Remember me to the people on Twitter.

These get less and less glamorous each time.

Back soon.

(Edit: here’s the link to the post RE my first impressions of the Centre Parcs chalet…)

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I haul the old machine from the shed, where it’s been resting for a few years.

I have not bicycled for ages and ages, having given up reluctantly due to my arse problem. But I am in the mood at present to get back onto all sorts of horses, and bicycling seems a good start.

Chuff. Chuff. Chuff. I chuff, huff and puff as I force myself up the gentle but long hill to the Village Shop. I feel the muscles in my legs working away, tightening, getting fitter with every thrust. Who is interested in owning an abusive Wii Fit when there is bicycling to be done on a sunny day?

I pick up my newspaper. The Village Shop Lady looks at me in some concern.

“Been bicycling,” I breathe, handing over my small change. This will make it easier on the way back, except I now have the weight of a newspaper to consider.

I retrieve the bicycle from the rack at the front of the shop and set off down the hill. Wheeeeeeeee!!! This is brilliant – the wind in my hair, the sun on my face, not having to pedal at all except a few thrusts to get me going and a couple of top-up pedals as I pass Eddie’s house. I realise that I have missed this feeling immensely. It occurs to me, as I sail down the hill towards the Cottage, that bicycling on a summer’s day is possibly the nicest, nicest occupation in the world.

I fall off my bicycle.

“Ow!” I say, as I mis-time a small stunt and fail to make the raised area beyond my driveway. “Aarrghhh!” as the bicycle disappears from underneath me.

I dust myself off, put the bicycle away crossly, and retrieve my newspaper from the ground.

I stomp in to the Cottage to sit down in an armchair. From across the room, the Wii gives me a sarcastic look.