I was really, really happy because it was the Fringe, baby, and I was actually going to get to do it, but then at the same time I was really, really sad because I wasn’t going to get to do it with Jax. And I was also really, really scared because Jax wasn’t going to be there and now I’m just this one guy on my own without anyone to feed the jokes to and run as fast as I can to keep up. Hapscaredysad, maybe.

Oh, and proud. I felt proud.

When we got to Bournemouth I knew straightaway I wasn’t going to be a Bournemouth guy, which is what Jax and me say when we don’t really like a place right off the bat. Like for instance we decided we definitely weren’t Falmouth guys when we went there on a school trip once. When we had our half hour of free time to walk around on our own, every shop we went into the shopkeepers would look at us like we were going to break something. Or steal something maybe. Even when we weren’t touching anything some invisible voice would call out don’t touch anything, you boys. For a town that our teacher said relies heavily on tourism to bolster the local economy, I reckon some people in Falmouth need to work on their hospitality skills.

To be fair, Jax probably didn’t help things. Every place we went into where there was a sign that said all schoolbags to be left at the door or the person in charge said don’t touch, he walked along with his hands less than an inch above the snow globes and fridge magnets or whatever on the shelf. Not touching but almost. Just to annoy them. Mum says Jax doesn’t always make it easy for people to like him, which when you think about it is true, and that’s an example. But the thing is, all the reasons other people don’t like him are pretty much the exact reasons me and Mum do.

Anyhow, no offense to Mum because, like she says, the internet isn’t always a clear and accurate representation of reality, but the reason I knew I wasn’t going to be a Bournemouth guy was when we saw our Premier Inn hotel. There weren’t any signs telling us don’t touch or leave our bags outside the door or anything, but it didn’t look anything like the one Lenny Henry stays in on the telly. It looked like a toaster from the outside and also felt like one on the inside. Which I wrote down on a Post-it to make a joke out of, but actually it turned out to be not that funny because it was true.

Mum had a bit of an argument with the girl at the desk when we were checking in because of what it cost Leonard to stay in a single room. Mum hardly ever argues with anyone so I got a bit of a surprise when she said, excuse me, but how does it make sense that if we’re paying forty-two pounds for a twin room he has to pay forty-five pounds for a single one? Which is right, by the way, and I know you probably think I’m the kind of kid who always thinks his mother’s right, but that’s just bad maths. Even though my Mum really is nearly always right and I am that kind of kid.