under another sun

Not a very productive day. But off to the gym. Walked through the deadness of Brighton Station, as it was another strike day. Most of the station was fenced off, which made me wonder if they were expecting trouble. Police hanging about too. Also started using a mindfulness app on my phone, which prompts me to take a ten minute meditation break every day. Have been doing it for three days now, and I really like it. In the evening Beth cooked and when Lorraine got home, we decorated our tree and room a bit. Beth said she wasn't feeling well and had tinselitis. Below Brighton station, and our Christmas tree in progress.

A toast breakfast with Mum, then sloped travelled from Stanmore to Turnham Green dodging the start of torrential rain in west London. Work was fine and I was all done by 5, so made it home fairly early. The ghastly train situation I was moaning about last week resulted in a protest in Brighton Station. When I arrived there were dozens of people in a group making a good deal of noise. All very middle class though, with bemused looking transport police standing about. At least one local news source said the protest started late because of delayed trains. Lorraine picked me up from the back of the station, and just before as I was buying some skinless chicken thighs from my former 'larder' the M&S in the station, there was a cancellation announced over the loudspeakers, which was met with hearty booing and jeers. All good fun, and I was in full sympathy. Lorraine picked me up, and home where Beth was making a noodle-based repast. Nice to be home. Phoned mum later, after ...

Commute fail The heaviest snow since the early 90s has put paid to my journey into London this morning, not to mention my freelance day's wages. No trains at all to London. Seems like it is a snow day. It is still snowing in Brighton (though the snow isn't particuarly thick in the protected city centre where I live). A few shots around the station and of my Twitten. Feels like risking life and limb to walk in Brighton's sloped streets. Below my Twitten, around the station, and Calliope, on my return, rejecting the snow and all it stands for.