Swansea

For a place that sees its fair share of rain, and probably quite a few other towns' share to boot, Swansea has a noticeable lack of outerwear shops. It's hard to take a shop assistant seriously when they tell you their current stock is the "summer" range as the rain is lashing in horizontally outside. I've never understood why clothing shops in the UK have specific seasonal stocks when it can piss it down here anytime without a second's notice. I think all clothes should have zip-off sleeves and legs that we wear forever, so we can adapt to the weather changing every five minutes.

Other things hard to take seriously in Swansea are the people wearing flip-flops in winter conditions and the twattishly bizarre haircuts. But Swansea is a place I always feel excited by. Having spent a lot of time here when I was younger, I always feel that buzz when I arrive, a pang of childish exuberance left over from some of my favourite holidays. Even on the train station platform from where none of the city is visible, I can still tell.

It's nice to stay with my aunt and uncle as well, instead of in a room with strangers; I was a little less lucky with my second night in Bath. Instead of sharing a room with two French girls, I was sharing with three men. One was pretty old (how he got onto the top bunk, I'll never know) and one I'm pretty sure was Michael Stipe. I couldn't say for certain as he wore an eye mask all night. Come to think of it, it probably was Michael Stipe.

I haven't done any exploring since I've been here, for obvious reasons, but it's nice to just sit and relax. Depressingly, I sat in Walkabout by myself for a lot of Sunday, watching football, but only because it was empty and I thought I could convince myself I wasn't in a Walkabout. I had what I was told was a Kangaroo fillet sandwich, but I suspect it was just ordinary beef. If you're ever in Sketty, Zaal do a very nice curry. The takeaway next door is run by an old Chinese bloke everyone calls Chris.