Running away from home

I suppose one of the good things about not being given an office is that there's no place for a supervisor to poke their head into to make sure you're still working. As long as I make deadlines and act industrious and slightly overwhelmed, they don't think to ask where I am during the week. So at the beginning of this month I ran away from home.

Usually I stay in Norfolk, make a day trip out of a section of footpath, get lost and rained on and chased by cows and come home to my own bed. This time I went to Cardiff.

I'm sure there was some logic involved in choosing Cardiff as the place to run away to. The train tickets were cheap, and I start acting a little crazy if I go too long without seeing the ocean. As luck would have it, I happened to be there for St. David's Day. Which meant that there were Welshcakes.

I did other things, too: explored the arcades and the covered market, gawked at the taxidermy in the museum, poked my head into all of the public buildings, slipped into the castle for free during the parade and walked all the way around Cardiff Bay by accident. But the Welshcakes were the highlight. They were being sold hot from the bakestones in paper bags, doused in caster sugar and (I can only assume) cocaine. At first I got two, thinking I'd be good with a taste to see what they were like. Then I got another bag. And then another. And now my coat pockets have a sugar crust in the corners.

I took my notebook and actually got some drafting done, so I suppose I can call it a work trip. I don't think anyone noticed that I was gone, least of all my supervisors. So maybe not having an office does have some positive qualities.