Cardiff left us with the parting gift of a hangover, Jason’s brother Adrian having joined us for a few jars the night before. Between us we know of a number of proven hangover cures. Riding a busy bus for an hour isn’t one of them.

On arrival at Swansea bus station we managed to pick up a stalker. He looked like a cross between Elvis Costello and a tramp, which meant he looked exactly like Elvis Costello. In a vain attempt to loose him we decided to take a short cut to Mumbles by crossing the mud flats. Here we managed to ruin two perfectly good pairs of trainers as what is locally known as “the custard” swallowed us knee deep. Perhaps it was the thought of drowning in custard that dissuaded our stalker from following us out to sea or perhaps we’d managed to appear more deranged than he, either way, he got bored and buggered off somewhere else.

Heavy of foot we arrived at mumbles pier and were greeted by the general manager Dexter Ford. Dexter is Mr Mumbles and being a remarkably decent chap presented us with a cheque for £100.

The grip and grin photo completed, we took our first step onto the pier (avoiding the watchful eye of the attendant in order to evade paying the 50 pence entrance fee!). Mumbles pier is pure white-knuckle enjoyment. We are 22 piers into our trip and discounting the ruins at Birnbeck, this is the most rickety pier to date. Loose planks, rusted struts and huge bloody great holes in the floor make this one of our favourite piers to date, and that’s without even taking into account the enormous bikini wearing ape! Mumbles we salute you!