Interlude with Bob

Tiresome train delays. I'd had such easy, although long, journeys, lately that I'd forgotten the ghastliness when trains go wrong, and the way from Brighton to London is doomed. Ended up getting in a cab, with a very cheery cabbie, who made me suddenly feel a lot better about everything.  Work perfectly fine, working on a brochure to do with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and being photographed holding an Einstein mask. Felt rather tired though, I am not so good at bouncing back from lively weekends any more.

In the evening mooched across to Goodge Street where I met Bob, to tardily celebrate his birthday.  Long and wide-ranging discussions in a couple of pubs, and Pizza Express, where Bob managed to obtain a pizza twice the size of mine for almost the same money. I can talk to Bob about things I can only tell Bob, or perhaps more accurately, only Bob would be interested in. Talking about dreams and archetypes, and the nature of the imagination, among more general gossip.  Home at 11:20 to a sleepy Lorraine and the slightly heart-sinking realisation that it is only Wednesday.

Below me with an Einstein head, and two shots of Milly, Bob's daughter, he sent me from his phone.



















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