Two text message conversations:

David: Help! I'm in Caerphilly.
Jonathan: The town or the cheese?
David: The town, sadly.
Jonathan: Work or pleasure?
David: Definitely not pleasure.

David: Help! I'm in Caerphilly.
Ian: I must not be fully awake yet.
David: Oh, that I weren't.

To reveal too many details of my business trip to Wales, and the people I met there, would be libellous, slanderous and downright dangerous to my job. I shall have to tread caerfilly.

After sitting through a staggeringly long, dull and irrelevant presentation, we were taken for a very good meal in Cardiff at an excellent new fish restaurant called La Fosse. The chargrilled sardines were excellent, and my main course - a seafood platter containing fillets of sea-bass and mahi-mahi topped with a ginormous tiger prawn was very good too.

We spent several more hours in a godforsaken karaoke pub, wincing while peroxided perma-tanned bimbos duetted with beer-bellied bruisers. You haven't lived till you've seen a full-back bellow out "I Am What I Am". Grinning shrivelled company directors danced puppet-like with blowsy coarse women. Is it a Welsh bye-law that all women must bleach their hair in a tribute to Helen-From-Big-Brother?

We sought solace in many many pints of the local beer - a heavy concoction called Brains S.A. The locals told us S.A. stood for "Skull Attack" - I reckon it's "Stomach Ache".

I wouldn't have thought I could ever be happy to arrive in Swindon.