A beano on a rainy Monday
Monday, and raining.
Off to the gym this morning, to do something about my festive plumpness. Then home before going off to London. Trains are utterly diabolical at the moment, Preston Park ominously deserted, with signs about disruption and strikes (all blamed on the union and not mentioning the world's most incompetent railway company, and the world's most incompetent secretary of state for transport Chris Grayling of course). Travel hard to impossible on any day this week apart from today and Thursday -- when I will go up to see Mum and Mas again.
Spoke to Mum and it sounds as if they are going to give Mas a pacemaker because he is not recovering and is still in intensive care. Apparently he is the person who holds their record for being in intensive care after a triple bypass.
Otherwise by judicious choices, I managed to get to Chiswick with only three trains. Walked to the City barge along Strand on the Green, passing Isis Court where I once lived, and felt pleasantly nostalgic for the slime green river in the drizzle. Settled into the pub, with a pint only to be phoned with the correct venue half an hour away. Off then to the Roebuck, walking to Gunnersbury and catching the Tube to Turnham Green. Walked past my last abode in Chiswick, where I lived in Thornton Ave.
A pleasant few hours with Matty boy and the 11 London gang, on a Monday afternoon beano. Some really nice people. Chatted a bit to Lucy, a recent graduate and writer of poems, saw an old workmate Rosie too who I'd not seen in years.
There was a secret Santa business. I got a quill pen, which was rather nice.
Dave and I caught a cab back to Chiswick Station, as we'd both come in that way, while the others all progressed on to a restaurant. A reasonable journey home, and got a cab back from Brighton, and ate some toast and a fried egg by way of supper. To bed, where Lorraine had already repaired.
Below middle of the dreary day at Preston Park. A glimpse of the old river, and a poster from Southern Fail.
Off to the gym this morning, to do something about my festive plumpness. Then home before going off to London. Trains are utterly diabolical at the moment, Preston Park ominously deserted, with signs about disruption and strikes (all blamed on the union and not mentioning the world's most incompetent railway company, and the world's most incompetent secretary of state for transport Chris Grayling of course). Travel hard to impossible on any day this week apart from today and Thursday -- when I will go up to see Mum and Mas again.
Spoke to Mum and it sounds as if they are going to give Mas a pacemaker because he is not recovering and is still in intensive care. Apparently he is the person who holds their record for being in intensive care after a triple bypass.
Otherwise by judicious choices, I managed to get to Chiswick with only three trains. Walked to the City barge along Strand on the Green, passing Isis Court where I once lived, and felt pleasantly nostalgic for the slime green river in the drizzle. Settled into the pub, with a pint only to be phoned with the correct venue half an hour away. Off then to the Roebuck, walking to Gunnersbury and catching the Tube to Turnham Green. Walked past my last abode in Chiswick, where I lived in Thornton Ave.
A pleasant few hours with Matty boy and the 11 London gang, on a Monday afternoon beano. Some really nice people. Chatted a bit to Lucy, a recent graduate and writer of poems, saw an old workmate Rosie too who I'd not seen in years.
There was a secret Santa business. I got a quill pen, which was rather nice.
Dave and I caught a cab back to Chiswick Station, as we'd both come in that way, while the others all progressed on to a restaurant. A reasonable journey home, and got a cab back from Brighton, and ate some toast and a fried egg by way of supper. To bed, where Lorraine had already repaired.
Below middle of the dreary day at Preston Park. A glimpse of the old river, and a poster from Southern Fail.
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