How far?!

I'm somewhat lost. Instead of heading back on the boat I decided to tackle the route by road. I am currently situated in a farmstead in Glantwymyn, Mid-Wales. I'm fucked if I know how I'm to get back to the island. I've had an operation to remove a faulty kidney since my last chance-posting, and now I'm somewhere between convalescence and confusion.

Father Gibbon is purportedly in the north of England somewhere, whilst Father Bradley hasn't been spotted in a fair old while. Probably the best thing to do in these circumstances is test my drinking ability on one kidney less than the full complement.

The Bishop was banged-up in Cardiff for molesting a policewoman.

I'm going to the pub.

See my face

I found an internet cafe here in the city. My face is fixed in a perpetual grin. We won!

The island is a long way away and, I would suggest, a few days away too. We're staying on here in the city for a couple of days at least if for no other reason than trying to find my cassock. I left it in a pub and I fear someone may be using it for dishonest means.

I got trapped in Cardiff Castle for a little while yesterday, but managed to scale the perimeter wall to free myself. I met up with a lady from the Holy Orders as well, details of which I shan't divulge here just yet.

Of great interest was the arrival of the Bishop in the city. We left him in a foul mood on the island, but he calmed down and concluded that he would need to keep an eye on us. He met up with us at The Cayo, arriving to much tooting and name-calling from the Irish fans.

I reached a strange place yesterday when I realised we had won. I was in raptures and that's all that matters. Grown men were crying, women were hugging each other, friends clasped hands and embraced. What a day. What a life. My God.