Last day

I am in a period of adjustment. I finished at work on Monday, and am now on leave until the end of the month, when my employment officially ends.

How does it feel?

It feels weird, mostly.  I don't think it will actually sink in for a couple of weeks that I no longer have a job.  I'm trying to resist the temptation to either panic or completely freak out*, both of which have threatened in the last couple of days.  Instead, I am slowly sorting out my study, and emptying my handbag and rucksack of stuff I don't need to carry around any more every day.

I took my season ticket back to the railway station on Tuesday morning.  The nice man who offered to make us tea was on duty.

"Morning," I said.  "Can I cash in my season ticket please?"

"Ooh!" he said.  "Have you left your job now?"

"Yes I have! Yay!"  I did a little dance of joy.  The ticket man did a little dance of joy behind the glass screen.  His young trainee emerged from round the back somewhere and did a little dance of joy with us too. 

An old lady walked in and we all stopped, embarrassed.  The young trainee vanished round the back, never to be seen again. 

I had to fill in many complicated forms, and hand over my season ticket - still with about £2500 left on it - and my long term parking ticket, and was assured that I would be told by the end of the week how much I was going to get refunded.  I hope it's loads.  Well, I'm practically unemployed now.

The last day in the office was very strange too. 

I'd organised a farewell lunch at the local Wagamamas for some of my colleagues, and most of them were able to come along, including one or two who left the Department a while back, which was lovely.  Before lunch I did a bit of desultory work-related stuff, chatted to people and emptied out my locker.  Lunch was prolonged and animated, so I thoroughly enjoyed it, then back to the office for the last couple of hours before I could decently head home.

I was down on the first floor, chatting to a colleague, who had very kindly got me a farewell gift.  As we sat there, one of my colleagues from the sixth floor, where I sat, came rushing through, looking for me. She was in a bit of a tizz.

I waved to her and she came over, all out of breath and anxious.

"You need to come back upstairs!" she said.

"Oh?  What's the matter?"

"Um...you just need to come back upstairs."  Bless.

Sure enough, when I arrived back at my desk, the entire team were assembled, waiting for me.  The boss quickly came back from his end of the office and gave a flattering, if embarrassing, speech about how much help I'd been and how much I'd be missed. Always nice to hear.  Then they gave me a huge bag of loot.  How splendid. 

I managed to say thank you and good luck and goodbye (I think, I actually can't really remember much of what I said) without blubbing like a great big girl, which had been a bit of a worry.

And then I went home. Handed in my security pass - first time in 23 years I haven't had one of those in my handbag - and my laptop, and left the building. 

Mr WithaY had sorted out a very fine supper and a bottle of Champagne** so we sat together and drank that, and I showed him all my fab gifts, and told him how nice everyone had been. 

And now I am looking at what to do next.  Apart from stabbing futiley at molehills with a garden fork, I mean.  Bastard.

Tell you one thing though.  I am LOVING not getting up before 6am to catch the train.  Oh yes indeedy. 






*that's when I run in circles like Daffy Duck with his hair on fire, shrieking.  It's not pretty. 

**Lidl's finest - can't go wrong

Bags of style

Overheard on the train recently:

Elderly male hippy:  I was looking at a magazine the other day.  What was it called, now?

Elderly male non-hippy:  (not entirely seriously) Tatler?

Elderly male hippy:  No.  Not that.  LK?  GK?  PQ?  Something like that?

Elderly male non-hippy:  Don't know.  (Interested now) What was it about?

Elderly male hippy:  (After a deep-thinking pause)  GQ!  That was it!  GQ.  Fashion. But for MEN!

Elderly male non-hippy:  (Appalled)  For men?  MEN?  (shakes his head)  Naaaah.  Really?  Fashion?

Thery stare at each other, aghast at the thought.

Elderly male hippy (some time later)  They had bags.  For men.  Page after page after page. Of bags.  For men.  Just...bags.

I was tempted to stay on the train all the way to Exeter, just to eavesdrop. 

Hair raising

When I was on the train home the other night, amid the usual crowds of commuters, a gentleman came and sat in front of me.  Not something I usually pay much attention to, as the train is intended for the use of more than one person. 

In an ideal world I would have my own train, with a comfy sofa and an endless supply of entertaining and educational dvds to watch on the journey in every day.  I could learn other languages, or take a Masters degree, or become a silversmith.  I assume you can do all those things by watching someone else doing it?  Anyway, if not, on my perfect train, I would be able to. 

I'd also have a bed to snooze on if I didn't feel up to the rigours of education so early in the day.  Oh, and good books.  And some tropical fish in a huge aquarium for me to look at. 

There would be fresh flowers every day on my train, and a proper cooked breakfast served to me by a proper chef in a tall hat.  And a spa with a huge bath, and maybe a hot tub for the trip home, so I could arrive back all relaxed and fragrant.  And a hairdresser, a dry cleaner and an old-fashioned wise-cracking shoeshine chap to keep me smart without having to do it myself. 

In fact, sod it, let's just put my office in it and I'll work there too. 



Sadly, reality is far crueller.  The train is a packed, stuffy, uncomfortable mass transit system that gets me to London more or less on time, most of the time.  As an added bonus, if you live West of Gillingham, this week you'd be stuffed into a bus for a big chunk of your trip, due to a landslide blocking the train tracks.  Travel in the 21st Century.

Anyhoo, this bloke who sat in front of me.  Why did I notice him?

Guess.

Rock star lifestyle

Tomorrow is a Big Day workwise. We are all going to some basement conference room in the Street of Power, and explaining to a large group of people Why Stuff Matters.

I am doing the initial chunk of the presentation, and the more time I have spent on it, the more I realise that I know NEXT TO NOTHING about it. I will have to deploy a sharp suit and some expensive makeup, and try to wing it on a wave of confidence and Chanel*.

Arse.

Ah work. It's like fun, but with all the good stuff sucked out of it, and added stress and anxiety.

This week has been pretty good so far, to be fair. I walked bloody MILES through London on Monday, and fell sound asleep on the train home, waking up with a snort of alarm in Salisbury. Always attractive, that.

Tuesday was glorious. Warm and sunny, a bit like Abroad. I walked to the office in the morning from Waterloo, having overslept and caught the later train** which put me in a good mood for the rest of the day. It makes a huge difference, that extra half an hour. Mind you, the later train is jam-packed, standing room only by Basingstoke.

Come hometime, I started walking down Victoria Street, then on a sudden impulse I hailed a cab.

Well, it was great.

I felt like a rock star as we swept through Parliament Square and over Westminster Bridge, jumping out at Waterloo all relaxed and non-sweaty. And it only cost me a fiver. Well worth it for the buzz.

Tomorrow I am in London again, then we are off out for an Indian in town*** with some of our lovely mates. And on Friday (da-da-daaaaaaaa!) we are going to a festival. With music! And camping! And hippies, I expect. Been YEARS since we went to a music festival, so it will either be incredible fun or we'll utterly loathe it, and come home remembering why we stopped going before.

Mr WithaY is threatening to buy a didgeridoo.

I wish I was kidding.  



*The makeup, not the suit. I don't think Chanel make suits for women of my mighty girth.

**The 07:25. Lazy slacker that I am.

***Ha!

Red red wine

The things you see on the train.

Last night, on the way home, I managed to bag a seat at one of the "four seats round a table" spots. A prime spot as long as you don't have a daddy longlegs opposite you. No, I checked carefully. The chap opposite was broad, but not tall, a good combination usually.

He smiled politely as I sat down opposite him, next to a woman who was studying a stack of work papers. The other seat next to the chap, by the window, was unoccupied. The chap opposite me arranged a newspaper, a heap of napkins, a large baguette, a plastic glass and a small bottle of red wine on the table, preparing for a picnic on the journey.

He seemed very happy, but brightened up visibly as a slim, pretty young lady made her way along the aisle towards us.

"Room for a little one here!" he boomed, patting the seat beside him.

She kept walking.

The woman next to me read all her papers, then started working on her laptop. She was a lawyer, and now I know all about the case she was working on*.

The chap opposite and I played footsie on and off, both of us trying to be polite and accommodating, but also both trying to be marginally less uncomfortable. He had long legs for such a short bloke. Or so I thought, till I looked under the table and saw that I was in fact fighting for floorspace with his briefcase. So I pushed it slowly and discreetly under his seat with my foot and relaxed again. Heh.

He worked his way through the bottle of wine, intermittently reading his paper and dozing. How nice, I thought. How very civilised. Until he rummaged around in his bag and produced another bottle. Greedy bugger! At the very least he could have had a few more plastic cups. Gah.

As the train emptied, I was able to move across the aisle, smiling at him in a "I need more space, I'm not going because you didn't offer me any wine" way. He smiled back in a "I'm really quite pissed now, I have had a lot of wine and baguette, lucky me, eh?" kind of way.

At Basingstoke, two very sweet, dolled-up young ladies came and sat opposite me. They were on their way to a Christmas party. I know because I was eavesdropping on their conversation, despite wearing my iPod. There was a bit of a clue in the plastic stemware and box of wine they were carrying. They sat and drank their wine, giggling and gossiping. I now know how much they earn, and how much they dislike one of their colleagues**.

At Salisbury they tripped off the train, still drinking their wine and giggling, off for a grand night out. Bless.

I arrived home and had time to change out of my suit and into my slippers*** before our lovely mates arrived for dinner. Mr WithaY has decided we need to party our way back to glory. I'm all for that.

As a gift, they presented me with The Farmers Calendar.

It is brilliant, and I urge you all to get your own. I particularly like Mr August, who has struck a pointed-toe ballet dancer style pose, naked in a hop field.

Other news: Went to the dental hygienist this morning. I have wonderful teeth, and she is deeply envious. Yay me. However, at one point she was scraping off some calcified crud from my back teeth, making me cringe.

"Sorry" she said. "I know it feels weird, but this is the best part of the job (scrape scrape scrrrrrraaaaaape) It's so satisfying."

I like her. If it didn't cost me 50 quid a time, I'd go every week.



*Good job I'm semi-discreet, eh?
**See above
***I did wear other clothes as well. It wasn't that sort of party.

Not tired of life yet

It's been sunny here for two days in a row. That's more than the weather managed all bloody summer I think.

Was in London on Thursday, when it was NOT sunny. No, it rained. All day, as far as I could tell, and in Biblical proportion. I walked from Victoria station to my office, where I saw a man with extremely elegant shoes completely fail to spot the huge, wide, deep puddle, and wade right through it. He seemed to be occupied with his phone or his iPod or some such toy, and wasn't looking where he was going. So it was kind of self-inflicted. He went the rest of the way doing that one-foot-shake walk. Heh.

I took the lovely Z's advice and checked out the list of Tube stations it is quicker to walk between. Waterloo and Embankment, apparently. I decided to test this, and on the way home I got off the Tube at Embankment, then walked across the river to Waterloo.

Not only did it take if not quite less time, then certainly not much more, it was a nice little bit of exercise (those stairs up onto the bridge!) and it was lovely seeing the city all lit up. I will take my camera and do some pictures next week if I remember.

There was a Christmas fair going on along the South Bank, with stands selling German Food (and why is everything German so much more Christmassy? Answers please) and various other attractions. I didn't stand and look properly as I was in a bit of a hurry to get my train. The South American band who busk under the bridge were playing Christmas songs, rather than the music of the ancient Aztecs, which was lovely to walk along listening to.

I was on the train with a few minutes to spare, so I shall be doing that again. It was less stressful (no worrying about when the next train was turning up), it was lovely to be out in the evening air, and I felt like I stretched my legs a bit after a long day at my desk.

I had considered going out at lunchtime to the big Marks and Spencer close to the office, it being sale day and all, but decided against it. Every time I went to look at it out of the window it was buzzing like a kicked anthill.

In the afternoon I had a meeting on the 8th floor, and gawped out of the window on the landing afterwards. We overlook Buckingham Palace. How chic. Didn't see any members of the Royal household gawping back, twitching the diamond-encrusted net curtains and tutting about the nosy neighbours.

I'm really enjoying London. I daresay the honeymoon will wear off eventually but right now every time I go up to the office it feels like a bit of an adventure. It helps that I am getting to grips with the job too.

Remember I was banging on about people eating delicious-smelling food on trains, and how it ought to be a capital offence? Yeah you do.

Well, there was a chap the other day who topped that particular piece of travel misbehaviour. He was on his mobile to his (presumably) wife, ordering what sounded like a fantastic Indian takeaway, detailing the types of meat dishes, rice, breads, sundries and side dishes. "I'll meet you at the station in 40 minutes, please pick it up on the way to there darling."

Bastard.

I think everyone within earshot's stomach was rumbling as he reeled off the menu. "Yes, the lamb samosa...with chutney. And a chicken biriyani...yes, with the vegetable curry. And a keema naan. Or, no, make that a Peshwari naan. In fact, get both." And on and on it went.

I sat there, wishing I had had the foresight to bring my dull, sad, dry cereal bar with me, instead of leaving it in my desk drawer.

On the bright side, I have lost some weight since starting the new job. Yay me.

Other news: Mr WithaY is finally getting over a heavy cold. I think it is the same cold he had last week, and it never really went away. He spent 3 days this week either in bed or sitting listlessly on the sofa, wrapped in many heavy layers. He is on the mend though, and hopefully has had his share of bugs for the Winter.

I have been offering tea and sympathy from a distance.

Fidgets

I am snuffling annoyingly, but as I am at home today it doesn't seem so bad somehow. And it's not raining, which is nice.

You do see some types on the train, though, don't you? There was a woman sat next to me on Monday night who should win some sort of award for "Most Tiresome Traveller".

She was middle aged, determinedly blonde in a "Hey, I still have great looks, everyone" kind of way, and dressed like I used to when I was about 15. She had strategically placed her bags and coats all over two seats, trying to stop anyone from sitting next to her, and had her head down, ignoring all the passengers as they got onto the train.

Ahah. I don't fall for that ploy any more. Taking a leaf out of a chap's book who I had watched with admiration that very morning, I said "Shall I put those up on the rack for you?" as I started taking off my coat, and making it obvious I was going to sit there. She looked at me in frank dismay and started gathering up all her stuff, obviously not pleased that I was going to be joining her.

But, if she wants two seats, she can pay for two seats, is what I say. Well, thought. But she could read it in my body language I think.

Anyhoo. She cleared all her stuff away and I sat down, intending to read my book. FidgetWoman was writing letters, or postcards or something, and gradually twisted herself round in the seat till she was sticking her fat arse into me, in a manner I would have thought over familiar in my best friend.

I responded by fidgeting right back at her, putting in my iPod and shuffling around till she realised she was encroaching. She muttered an apology as she sat up straight again. I was tempted to pull the middle armrest down in a challenging and decisive manner, but that seemed a bit too overtly rude. She went back to her writing (she had really stupid handwriting, all big loops and twiddly bits, probably signed her name with a heart over it, not that I was looking), spreading her pens, notebooks, cards and assorted crap all over the table, much to the annoyance of the girl opposite who was trying to read some big serious looking work papers.

After what felt like about 17 hours of this, she excused herself and headed off to the toilet*, meaning I had to wake up from my half-doze and stagger to my feet so she could get past me.

When she came back, I went to stand up but she said "No, no, I'll sit here..." and slid into an empty seat across the aisle. Heh. My "I hate you and everything you stand for" body language is coming on a treat.

After a bit she decided she needed all her bags and crap, so leaned right over the table to pick them up. I offered to move again, but she said "No, it's fine, it's fine," in a flustered manner. The girl opposite and I shared A Look.

Eventually, FidgetWoman had gathered up all her stuff, and as she dragged it across the table, something wet and sticky in one of the bags sprayed all over all three of us. I looked at her in stunned amazement, clearly giving her the "How can anyone be that fucking stupid?" face I do so well.

The girl opposite silently wiped her papers with one hand, then fetched a clean tissue from her bag and wiped her face, before continuing with her reading. Every now and again we shared another Look.

I examined my bag (splattered), my suit (unmarked, or she'd have been stuffed out of the window into the middle of Wiltshire head first) and my beautiful scarf (covered in fuck knows what). Rather than emitting a loud cry of rage and strangling her with it, as I wanted to do, I merely *tch*ed, folded it up and put it in my bag.

It's great being British.

I did amuse myself by watching FidgetWoman's attempts to pretend she was relaxed and happy for the rest of the journey, though. Heh.

Other odd things I saw on the train this week:

1) A large amount of what looked like hemp rope, neatly coiled up in the middle of the track.

2) A small dead greenfinch in the corridor between two carriages. The guard walked down, spotted it, said "Aha! A freeloader!", picked it up by one claw (the bird's not his, he had normal hands as far as I could tell) and flung it into a secret guard alcove in the corridor. Perhaps to add to the stewpot for supper that night, who knows?

3) A middle aged chap in a mostly respectable work outfit, carrying a battered skateboard to use for the rest of his commute.




*Well, I assumed that's where she went. She might have been looking for a contract killer in need of a quick job.

Battered

No, not the sausages. They are still in my fridge, waiting for me to be at home long enough to cook and eat a proper meal.

My knees.

Guess what I did yesterday? I fell over! Yay me! And yes, I know that everyone who knows me is slapping their foreheads and going "Oh not again!" to themselves.

My Arch Nemesis, Doctor Gravity, never sleeps.

I was on my way to Middle Sis's house after work, and had successfully negotiated the majority of the Victoria line without falling down a hole, or being eaten by rats, which I felt was a bit of an achievement.

My troubles began at Walthamstow. As do so many troubles, I suppose.

I staggered up onto the platform looking for a ticket office, because the Oyster system ends at Walthamstow and you have to buy a paper ticket.

How last century! Paper!

Anyhoo, I was too busy looking for the ticket place that I didn't see a small* lumpy bit of platform, tripped, and fell over. Not a discreet stumble, either...this was a full body splat, complete with swearing. Several kindly commuters rushed to my aid, and none of them tried to nick my bag, which was nice.

And today I have truly magnificent bruises on both knees, and have slightly damaged my engagement ring, so will need to go and get it sorted by a jeweller.

So ARSE to Walthamstow station.

On the plus side, once I managaed to navigate the rest of the way to Middle Sis's house, we all went out for a sumptuous Thai meal to celebrate Bro-in-Law's birthday, which was excellent. Mmmmmm. Thai.

Other Tube news: Saw Phil Jupitus at Embankment looking rather like a 19th Century Russian nobleman.

Spent today at a conference in the Royal Lancaster hotel, which I can recommend. I only saw the conference room and the dining room, but it was very nice. Lunch was excellent. I always feel a bit like a street urchin when I go into a hotel like that, though. You know, having to resist the urge to wipe my nose on my sleeve and offer to shine people's shoes or hold their horses for them.

I expect the Royal Lancaster has special sleeve wipers and horse holders of its own. In bowler hats.

Another long day though. Just as well I don't go into the office on a Wednesday....although, hey...wait....



*alright, teeny. But definitely big enough to make me fall over.

Blimey

Another week gone - life is starting to flash by. Probably just my age.

It's been an odd week too, I have been out of the office for much of it, either in Bath or Bristol, so it has felt a bit disjointed. And the weather has been incredible - warm, sunny, gentle breezes, perfect. Even the journeys on the train were relatively enjoyable.

Went into the office on Friday which was all a bit depressing - most of our colleagues have now moved to the Bristol office so the place was all but deserted, with huge packing boxes everywhere. We move to the other end of the building next Friday so this week we need to get all our stuff packed as well.

Whilst doing the day job. Arse. I bet we have no working phones by about Thursday. And then I get moved onto the new improved IT system at the end of the month. We have been advised to save everything we possibly can onto CD because the migration so far has had mixed success.

This worries me.

Big achievement this week - I have learned how to make cupcakes. I found a recipe on Nigella's website, and it works brilliantly:

4oz self-raising flour
4oz sugar
4 oz butter
2 eggs
vanilla essence
milk to make it the right consistency (a few tablespoons, add it slowly)

Mix everything together, adding the milk at the end, carefully put the mix into 12 baking cases, place in oven, make icing, wait.

Bake in the oven at Gas mark 6 for 15-20 minutes, allow to cool a little, add icing and decorations. Makes 12.

They are really nice.

Other news: Mr WithaY has finally got his Landrover back from Barry the Fish, and it seems to be working properly. Long may that continue.

So, we are a 2-car family again. Shame diesel is now costing us £1.23 a litre so we can't afford to go anywhere any more.

I still miss Badgerdaddy. *sigh* Still, nice that people are chipping in on this blog, thanks to all who have done so.

I'll try to be a bit less crap and slow to post this week. Sozz.

Graphic imagery

Well, I had my new PC for about 12 hours before it broke. Is this a record? Probably not, considering it has Vista on it, to be honest.

I got it home from the shop, unpacked it, plugged it in, connected my interweb connector box thingy and hoopla, it worked. I could see the bbc web page and everything.

Marvellous.

So, last night I logged in to check my email (none, miserable billy no-mates that I am), play a few moves on my ongoing tragic Scrabble addiction, and see if I could get Photoshop loaded up. Aaah, all was going splendidly well.

But wait....what's this? I got a popup saying that there were some HP* uploads (downloads?) needed, and would I allow them to be done? Why of course. Anything for you, new PC. Suck those delicious healthy upgrades from the internet and grow up big and strong for me. Mmm-mm.

Halfway through the uploading process, my funky new monitor flickered, blinked a couple of times, went black, then came back with a completely crap display resolution. The upload had managed to wipe out the graphics card driver.

Bloody great.

Much panicking later, I found the Restore facility in the "what to do when Vista breaks your new PC, be assured that it WILL" booklet. All is well. For now.

Gah.

Other news: Successful trip to London yesterday. Meeting was useful, and I met Tall Richard for a cup of tea and a chat beforehand, which was very pleasant.

Also found a great birthday gift for Mr WithaY in the dive shop on the Embankment, which I walk past to get to the office.

Spotted this sign at Overton as the train sat at the station:

"Notice is hereby given that this footpath is not dedicated to the public."

I love that idea. I am going to start a campaign for more such signs:

"This stile is dedicated to Frank Sinatra."

"This footpath is dedicated to the people of Andorra."

"This railway platform is dedicated to the memory of King Charles the Bold."

It's a winner on so many levels.



*The computer manufacturer, not the brown sauce maker. I assume they are two different organisations, anyway.

Still unlucky

I love my car. I hate that it is causing me so much grief.

Gah. I am not giving up yet. Toyota will call me back because the girl I spoke to in their customer services section was a bit confused, and when I explained the situation she said "I need to talk to somebody else about this."

So. We shall see.

Other news: Was in London yesterday for work, and took some pictures on my phone, as it was such a lovely day.

Would have posted them on here but Photobucket crashes Internet Explorer every time I try to resize them to fit on the blog page. So fuck that.

I walked MILES. Mostly because the building I had to get to wasn't where I thought it was. Not it's fault, you understand.

But it meant I got to where I thought it was, and it wasn't. So I had to trot up and down the length of Whitehall asking various amused policemen how to get there. Made it in time for my meeting, but was a bit hot and flustered by the time I arrived.

Never mind, I'm sure the walking did me a power of good. I even ran, earlier that day. Haven't run for about 3 years, and didn't drop dead, so that was encouraging.

I was driving to Tisbury station, and remembered that there were signs up all along the road giving advance warning of tree felling, road closures and other assorted hasslery. I decided to avoid that closed road, and go the long way round.

It was nightmarish. There were no signs, it being teeny back roads in the middle of Wiltshire, so every junction I got to, I was guessing which way to go. It was foggy, icy and sunny, so it was like driving around inside a ping pong ball. And, obviously, it took me far longer to get to the station than I had expected.

By the time I got to the station it was a bit too close to train time for comfort. I had to run to the car park ticket machine (why don't they use the RinGo system there?) and then run back to the car, and then run to the ticket office.

I was handed my tickets at the same time as the train pulled into the station, so I took my seat with no small relief.

On the way home, a guy settled himself on the seat next to mine on the other side of the walkway. He was on his phone, having a work related conversation, and as he chatted he unloaded a laptop, a set of headphones, another phone/PDA thing, and a heap of snacks.

I watched (discreetly) as he finished his call, settled down, got the laptop up and running, put his headphones on and opened his sushi. I was impressed with his dedication to work, right up until I realised he was watching an episode of The Green Wing. Excellent.

Oh yeah, I forgot about the morning's whole Road Closed debacle and forgetfully went home along that road. Which wasn't closed at all, the bastards.

Trains

Been up in London all day today. I hate it. With a passion. I mean, the city itself is great: the buildings, the theatres, the museums and galleries, the river, the parks, the unexpected beauty of the place. Everything else about London can fuck off though.

The people. So many. So bizarre and hip looking. So many languages. So few manners.

The traffic. The TRAFFIC! It's insane! My colleague and I had to scamper out of the path of a taxi which deliberately swerved towards us as we crossed a road. Bastard.

And of course we got horribly lost. We'd been told "It's really easy to find" about the office we were heading for.

No it fucking isn't.

We came out of Tottenham Court Road station, turned the wrong way and walked miles down Oxford Street before pleading weakly with a very nice policeman to help us get to where we needed to be. Thank you kind copper, if you're reading this. He laughed at us for a bit then gave clear and accurate advice as to how to get where we needed to be.

We followed his directions, found the office, only 10 minutes late, had a very successful meeting and then (at the suggestion of our colleague) walked all the way across the West End to a different office to meet someone else who might be helpful. And that took over 40 minutes, because we got really lost again.

We went down Shaftesbury Avenue. Back up Shaftesbury Avenue. Up and down the Strand. Through Chinatown (I think). Past Trafalgar Square. Past Horseguards. Saw the National Gallery from almost all possible angles apart from the birds-eye view. It was an education.

My feet are killing me. I thought long and hard about which shoes to wear, and decided on heels because it was a formal meeting. Bloody fool that I am. Should have worn my big stompy boots or trainers or something sensible for walking in. Wellies maybe. Heh.

And getting there is such a pain in the arse. To London, I mean. Mr WithaY kindly dropped me at the station so I didn't need to fret about parking. However, I'd not been there more than 5 minutes when the announcement came that my train had been cancelled. And me with no car to drive to the next station, or back home, or to the office, as has happened before.

A "technical problem" apparently. Oh, great.

So that leaves all these people stood on the platform with their very own Technical Problem - that of getting from A to B without using a fucking train. Gah.

Well, the long and the short of it was that we all hopped on the next train regardless of its destination and forced the driver to go to London at gunpoint, then abandoned the train in a multi-storey car park and torched it.

Well, no we didn't.

But we should have. We all hopped on the next train and changed at Salisbury, slightly later than planned, and a lot grumpier. I met my colleague as arranged, and our journey continued more or less uneventfully. But shit like that happens every bloody time I have to use the train. And when it costs the best part of a hundred quid for a ticket, it really isn't good enough.

Other news. 24,000 people at Stonehenge for the Solstice celebration. Saw a few of them on the train - they looked like people who'd been up all night smoking dope. There was a group of three lads, probably late teens, who had clearly all been wearing "Alice Cooper" stylee eye makeup. In the fun-filled party atmosphere among 24,000 like minded souls it probably looked fab. On a grubby, crowded South West train at 9 in the morning it looked both crap and hilarious.

Ah well. A day off tomorrow. And I really feel like I need it.

Another thing - why do all the escalators on the London Underground have adverts for cheap flights to places you would love to visit? It's like torture...Canada, Hawaii, Bermuda, Mauritius, New Zealand....yes, thanks for telling me I could get there for £200. However, I'd much rather flog across London and then spend 3 hours on a train to get home.

Bastards.