After a fucking awful nights lack of sleep. All I can remember was being bitten to fuck all night. Now I would have expected this in Africa, or even the Caribbean but not Nice. I was fairly pissed but it was still vey uncomfortable. I’m covered in bite marks. Had breakfast. Went for a wonder. We then packed and checked out. Grabbed some lunch, well breakfast for bum boy. Waited for our transfer, which was late, but was in a Mercedes, so was forgiven. Flight was very uneventful. There was a guy behind me who was hamming it up big time about being an accredited actor, spending a week in Cannes. I saw him afterwards, a good job there is work for fucking ugly actors. Mother drove us home. I can go on every roller coaster in the world and feel some apprehensive, but I only feel truly terrified when I’m in the front seat and she’s driving babbling crap. I tried to tell her some bits about the holiday, but they just weren’t as important as her week or anecdotes from thirty years ago. I’ve given up trying. At the end of the day it cost me thirty quid, which is about half the cost of a taxi or parking so I’ll let it go. She dropped us off, used the loo and buggered off. We thought we’d got shot of her, until she rang the bell and moaned about her light being knackered and ‘if you get five minutes’, can I pop in and sort it out for her. Plus I couldn’t give a shit if she hasn’t had wine for three weeks. I’d got shit-faced on a bottle a night for the past couple of weeks thank you very much. Still. Unpacked. Checked the credit card. Didn’t spend as much as I’d thought, although I did knock up some fairly impressive bar bills. Back to just idling. Now just accelerating towards death again. At least I can go to bed and not be bitten by something.