Bear and bridesmaid

Lorraine slightly sniffy this morning, but she went to do Rhyme Time, and I made off up to Hampstead to meet mum at the station at 12:30. As usual I stopped off at the Runaway Cafe in Lewes station for a cup of Ceylon tea. Today none of the electronic card readers worked just as I was buying my drink. There was a busy queue, so they gave me mine free. Few people carry cash these days. 

Met Mum and we toddled down Flask Walk turning the corner by the school and up to The White Bear, where we were met in a friendly and very shouty way by the landlady. We sat in our usual corner, Mum looking in vain for the Parson. We had a couple of drinks, and soups and apple crumbles with coffee later. All very pleasant. And a new guy starting today, keen to make a good impression. Mum told me about going to John's funeral the day before. Her friends Margaret and John, just lived around the corner, and neighbours attended. After the service, there was a reception at a gold club for cups of tea and sandwiches, and Maheena gave Mum a lift home. 

Walking with Mum back to the station, she said it was good we had our secret pub to meet in. And I said she'd already spilled the beans, as Romy had been there with her. Fond farewells at the Tube station, and mooched down to West Hampstead Thameslink. A coldish day, and from the top of the hill italic rain shadows under clouds over west London. Home without much incident. A man got on at Gatwick, sat opposite me, and immediately began a loud and tedious business call. Worse were the gusts of foul breath the poor man emitted. I simply moved.

Also got the news that I had not won the lottery of the national poetry competition. However an email saying I'd made it through to the final 300 out of 21,254 entries, 'so to make it that far is quite an achievement'. One of the bridesmaids as usual, in the top 1.4% of entries. 

Seaford, and as Lorraine had already left for pottery, I decided to go mad and buy some fish and chips at Trawlers. I am friendly with the woman there, who always remembers me and chats, after a while I had one of those moments when I observed myself talking far too much.  

John White called me, wondering if I were up for seeing John McCullough tomorrow night launching his new book in Brighton. I had to decline, although I will no doubt read it. 

Lorraine home at nine thirty, and we slunk off to bed earlyish.