I have been unfashionably busy recently. With work that is. I have jet-setted to nasty little industrial estates in England and relatively plush civil service offices in Brussels. I have mounted up expenses and spent too long away from my family. And I'm doing it again.

But not until we get back from holidays. We're off to Barcelona and will have a wonderful time. We are traveling with someone suffering from chronic morning sickness, but we should cope.

It has been glorious here recently, and the good weather makes for good moods. On Saturday the women went clothes shopping while Paddy and I mowed the (two, small) lawns; cleared a drain (blocked for yea this many a year); fixed the bathroom light; re-wired the bedroom light; went to the playground and then to a local beer garden. There, there was a small incident regarding chips, but good humour prevailed and we went home happy.

I had been looking for an excuse to go to our Californian office for either the first or the second week of June, as there is a gathering in Las Vegas I wish to attend. While I was retuning home from Brussels, I idly wondered if there was some pretext I could dredge up from somewhere. On my arrival back at the office, I find, sitting there, in my inbox, an email wondering if I would be available to attend training during the second week of June. Just. Like. That. I can go of course (heh) and I can swing it so I can get to Las Vegas for the requisite weekend.

I often think that my job is somewhat lacking in perks, but every so often a golden apple drops into my lap. I got a week in New York, a trip to Japan during the World Cup, and now this. I get a weekend in Vegas with some friends, and a day or so in San Francisco. I'm a lucky guy.

Very lucky.