Excellent argument with my dad about cannon. We drove past the main roundabout on the way to Truro, which now has two large examples of Tudor ironmongery on it. Which made my dad sigh and shake his head (worrying, as he was driving) and say 'hoo hoo, they won't be there tomorrow'. To which I said, well, I think they'll be quite hard to steal, and he said, they've got wheels, and I said, yes, but they'll be hard to sell on, and he said no, and then said rather emphatically, up-country.
I abandoned the discourse at the point, but if anyone's crossed the Tamar into Devon recently and spotted a dodgy car boot sale stuffed with dodgy cannon, second-hand battlements and suits of armour (mostly complete)... don't tell me about it, as it means I've lost.
Also on conversations in cars, I had to dash from Islington to White City for the BBC meeting, so rather than wandering the streets looking for the nearest tube station I waved down a taxi, which turned out to be driven by Harry Enfield in his 'Oi Lance' period, if anyone remembers that. Or if it wasn't him, it was so close I was genuinely checking for the hidden camera. He took me to Angel tube station, and seemed slightly embarrassed for me that it was only about two minutes away. Explaining that it was less that I wasn't up for, as he'd put it, 'The Walk' (he said it in capitals, it was really weird), than I just didn't know that bit of London very well and felt that blundering about flickering through the A-Z sent off all sorts of signals that would attract urban predators, malcontents and ne-erdowells, after my iPod.
To which Harry Enfield said 'Thing is mate, you're a grown-up aren't you? Maybe take a bit of responsibility for your life'. Which made me go quiet for a bit, although he then asked me that if was from Cornwall, could I tell him if waxing a board really made that much difference if you're surfing. I that I wasn't that sure, and we agreed that it couldn't, not really, because if it did, someone would have the job of waxing battleships, and we both knew people in the Her Majesty's Royal Navy, and neither of them had mentioned it.
Anyway, I tried to spend the rest of my London trip in the mindset suggested by Harry, and it worked well. There was a mini-GW convention just round the corner from Talkback - much fun. I just hope my and Rob's rather gory tales of tongue-related ailments/injuries didn't gross anyone out. And that was before the drinking really began. PP's worries that I should file my travel plans with the police, the coastguard and him were of course totally unfounded, and the experiment will surely be repeated in the summer, so a big shout out to T, F and P. Peace out.
And then I introduced the Mighty Evans to Mark Heap (GW's Dr Statham) in an impromptu post-work booze-up. It was like one of those comics crossovers where characters from entirely different continuities team up to combat evil, or in this case, more booze. The reason I'm writing this all down is because I went on to get the sleeper home, only I didn't sleep very well and now the past 24 hours seems like quite a strange dream, although worryingly, I think the bit where Mark and I planned to raise a secret guerilla army to combat street impertinence and/or littering with random acts of appalling violence may have really happened. Still think it's a good idea though.