Meeting Mum

Up early, and looking at a poem, before heading after breakfast to London, and this time I flowed like a young otter from train to train, arriving at West Hampstead Thameslink in good time, unlike Monday's attempt. Reading Light by M. John Harrison.

Not far from the station an absolutely skeletal woman jogger. I wondered what trauma that made her keep running and, apparently, not eating. I felt my heart go out to her.

I met Mum at Hampstead station. We snuck down Flask Walk and made our way to The Old White Bear, where we are now known. Mum was looking for the man she calls the parson, who I think looks like a preacher from a cowboy movie. (He wasn't there, but we bumped into him on the street and afterwards he said hello.)  I had taken my laptop and we began to investigate chimney sweeps, and coal effect gas fires and so on. Chat GPT is my friend here. 

Then we had a spot of lunch, and a couple of drinks and a good chat. Mum and I looking at the colour of the walls. To me it was obviously dark blue, but Mum saw it as green. Funny how we perceive colours differently. On the way back to the station we bought a pencil sharpener. I watched her into the lifts at Hampstead, and sauntered back to West Hampstead Thameslink. An easy journey home, only marred, and this I find incredible, by losing my ticket yet again. I think I may have left it on the train when I got off at East Croydon. I realised immediately that I didn't have it, but the train doors were closed. Luckily I managed to get to Bishopstone, and off the train without meeting an inspector. 

Walked along the seafront and sucked in the fresh air and the bright late afternoon light and felt free and happy.

Below two tiles in Hampstead station, and traces of Autumn on a Hampstead street.