Did the Earth move for you, too?

Woken up far too early by a dreadful racket. No, not the hawkers of illegal used underage Koalas who ply their evil trade across the road, but the man in our back yard digging it up with a pneumatic drill. I mean, it all looks fun, you get to destroy concrete with a big noisy quantum laser cannon, but we high-tailed it outta there.
Now that he has provided us with a rather average 3-bed semi-detached house with carpets and everything, he was determined to show me how the other half live so we made our annual pilgrimage to 3rd World deprived area "Gosport" via bus and ferry.
As soon as you disembark, the first building you meet is the needle exchange, must be some kind of embroidery bring-and-buy facility, sadly I had left my collection of pins at home, could have exchanged them for an ice pick or something. We trawled the numerous charity shops and noted the wide variety of languages spoken by the mad bearded blokes who sit on the benches talking animatedly to their tins of Capybara Wikkid-Strength lager.
As it was sunny, the swing-park and exercise park were busy with people of my height. I ordered a single choccie ice cream with flake: he thought he was being generous making it a double so I rewarded him by eating only a quarter of it.
We have now bought my school uniform for the new term in 2 days. Shoes, book bag, jumper, I've got them all. Not all of them have the official school crest, but who's counting.
The drilling builder has found several layers of previous flagstones, concretions, cables of unknown origin, and fully expects to find an Indian burial ground or lost tin mine at any point. I think he thought he'd be finished by today.
I was tempted outside by the promise of Lego at the charity shop.
I elected to scoot there, and you know the way it is, I could just scoot down this road, look, round the corner is the seafront, I could just go past Canoe Lake, and before you know it, you're eating ice cream (and finishing it this time) outside the Pyramids with all that way to get home again.
I climbed rocks. I climbed the Pyramids. We threw rocks and found Codling number rocks. In the end I had to be pushed a lot of the way home due to knackered feet after a mere 2 and a half hours of serious investigation. On the way back (needing a poo) we discovered the reason that the pointless bus-only road by Canoe Lake has been renamed "The ocean at the end of the lane" after a Neil Gaiman novel. Born and raised in the area, he is a writer who has collaborated with Sir Terry Pratchett and is a nutter like the rest of us.
After supper (hoovered that one up), we played a bit more Risk. I get very angry when people ruin my plans by taking Kamchatka etc, haven't quite got the hang of the long game yet. While I showered, Jof ordered a dishwasher online (as you do, in her spare 10 minutes for the day) and then I tried on my new school uniform. I already look good. Now I'm going to look uniformly Regal.....