To Ashford, very slowly

Off by train to Ashford to spend the afternoon with Maureen and Pat. Lorraine intending to work, and I took my laptop too. However I was trapped by a loquacious and slightly drunk American who talked, in his own words, overbearingly, without pausing for breath for 45 minutes, so that I learned all the details of his family, and a fair selection of his opinions.

Dreaded rail replacement line from Hastings to Ashford, though I really liked this drive, threading on the coach through parts of Kent I have never visited. Our route went through Winchelsea, which looked fascinating with interesting ruins, Rye and across the marsh. I want to visit Winchelsea again.

A nice afternoon with Maureen and Pat, a roast lamb Sunday lunch, and watching mild mannered indoor bowls on TV, swapping Christmas presents, an event postponed due to the flu from hell, and said hello to Fatty Basil the cat, who now lives with them. Also chatting to Pete (Lorraine's nephew) and his girlfriend Charlene about films for Lorraine and I listening to the Simon Mayo, Mark Kermode film podcasts on our long journey.

The homeward journey took three hours, under a big full moon over Romney marsh. On the train, Lorraine working on a job application, while I listened to yet another film podcast as Sunday rattled away.

Chelsea played Brentford, the little team I used to watch every now and then when I lived in Chiswick and Kew, in the FA Cup. Unbelievably, Brentford held Chelsea to a 2-2 draw, an event which will live on in Brentford legend for decades. A humbling day for Chelsea, who last season beat Barcelona, widely accepted as the world's best team, yet can only draw with a team two divisions below their own.

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