Friday morning and feeling like the weekend.
My first mental awareness this morning came at least 30 minutes after having gotten out of bed. Certainly it was the only piece of cognitive function that made any difference to me in a significant way, the choice before me was simple. Do I jump on the 8.42 and travel with the rest of the sardines or loiter listlessly for the 8.49 and pretty much guarantee myself a whole seat and probably a spare to one side as well.
Not much of a choice really, so in my early morning haze mode - had managed only one cup of coffee - I hung round at a South London station flicking quietly at a copy of New Scientist. I’m fairly sure that I read about one and a half articles on the way in before succumbing to the unreasonably hot temperatures on board South Eastern’s spring trains. So I dozed into Cannon Street, slept at Cannon Street, and woke up going the wrong way out of London Bridge. Next stop was thankfully Lewisham but I’d just managed to blow around an hour of the morning already.
Hopped off at Lewisham and phoned the bods on site, then had another cup of coffee. This time making sure that I actually drank it before attempting to get onto another sleep inducer. Either way I got into work just after 10 and have looked over my in tray. Checked the out tray. Looked in the recycle and deleted files sections of my work and, there’s nothing to do.
So in all sensibility I could have quite happily slept up and down the train lines for the best part of the day and just been on call out. Ho hum…
So, this weekend is something of a bumper crop of annuations. Failing Angel and the Colonel Maxim are celebrating another year on this sphere. So I’ll trundle along on the Saturday and abuse them or at least their livers’. There is also a small chance that HW will tag along and meet some rather nice (see passim), if a little strange, people.
Sunday is laundry day, it’s official, I have a noticeable lack of socks and I think they are organising voting rights and elections in the bottom of the basket. Perhaps even catch up with a “doing something agenda” like heading down to Eltham Palace, it all depends on the weather really, oh and how awake I’m feeling. Having thought about that last statement a little more I have realised that it is a Bank holiday weekend. The prospect of going down to Eltham to be part of a small horde of the great unwashed possibly doesn’t inspire me that much. I do have a couple of Icelandic sagas to wade through and we do have a balcony and ready access to tea and coffee making facilities….
Monday and Tuesday we are sheltering two lost strays from across the Atlantic (poor dears). They have yet to experience the furrball at 5am. He knows the smell of new flesh and will not take no for an answer…
Finally, and here is a curio as to just how small the world and some communities are. I’m absolutely certain a Queenly Tart has an image/ icon with a bad mustachio on, and in the back drop, well that looks like a very old friend from the North in equally bad hat and moustache. Perhaps the honourable lady would be good enough to confirm, but last time I checked he lived just outside of Leighton Buzzard with a lovely wife and two kids. Those 6 degrees of separation seem to get smaller and smaller every moment.
Have a great Bank holiday weekend one and all and no doubt I’ll see some of you at various locales around London.