Strike day

A lift from my baby down to Preston Park. Southern Fail on strike this morning, so the rail networks troubled only by a few hardy commuters. My train to St Pancras, however, was on time, sparsely populated and a better service than usual.

Finally got our brief early this afternoon. By which time I was feeling sore throaty and ill, making dredging up enthusiasm and bright ideas less easy. I’d managed to squeeze in some work for my French client in the lunch break and on the train in the morning.

Happy to leave this evening as Fernanda was firing on all cylinders and all I wanted to do was creep home.  Fairly easy journey back. Called Mum as I walked home. Discovered that Beth was watching Spain versus Croatia, a fact she was so surprised about that she WhatsApped me a picture of the TV.
Lorraine back from pilates, a spot of chicken and salad with new potatoes, then the pair of us repaired rapidly to bed.