Deadly morning

Up with the larks, and down to Preston Park to attempt, unsuccessfully, to get a pass backdated to cover yesterday for twenty minutes at Preston Park. The man there ended up stamping my old tickets with a permission to travel today. He poked them into my travel card holder, where they instantly smudged unreadably.

Tweeted to Southern, no joy. Arrived at Clapham Junction, got off the train which then killed someone as it pulled out of the station. Luckily I did not see this, nor did I attempt to ghoul. Felt  horrible about the poor soul who, as I read later in the day, had died instantly. Utter mayhem again. I phoned Lorraine in the middle of it, feeling really stressed. No trains at all, a helicopter landing nearby and so on. After huge delays, and being shepherded to another platform,  we were told to travel into Waterloo, (where I had to make various explanations about smudged, unorthodox tickets) then back out to Kingston. From there I caught a pink taxi, for the fairly short distance to Hampton. We got stuck in a traffic jam, so I got out of it having payed inordinate amounts of money, and made the rest of the journey on foot in the rain, arriving at 10:45, a mere two and a quarter hours after I had arrived at Clapham Junction.

Work itself okay, fiddling about with Pat on the pitch materials. I felt as if I had to work like a maniac to catch up. Raining steadily on the river at Hampton. Home again, without too much difficulty, and Lorraine had made dinner, and I was very happy to eat it, and chat to my lovely wife. Only one more morning's work in it, and another commute to look forward to tomorrow.