It’s a beautiful day, so different from the rain of the last few days.
A perfect mill pond, useless for sailing.
Beautiful but eventful, you can tell it’s the end of camp because people are starting to kick off.
An evening introduction to a game has also given me an understanding as to why my friend would get stressed and not be able to play, and everyone else wouldn’t understand – it’s a colour blind thing.
Two of us went running, a third used wheels…
It’s the subtle variations in answers or questions that make you question everything in your head because you can’t ask the question you want to without causing an argument.
Last time I asked why a question was asked, it was a doesn’t matter not important. Or a don’t ask you won’t want to hear the answer. Sometimes it’s not even worth the first question.
My Grandfather died when I was 2, this was ages ago. But it means that for Nana the whole of Christmas time is a kind of sad time, a time of memories.
I don’t remember him, but for as long as I can remember I’ve been told the story about how he was told he wouldn’t make it to Christmas, but he was determined. How I was trained to say merry Christmas Grandad, and how proud he was.
He died on the 29th, and so all day has been distraction and it has been Thursday all day – the 29th has not been mentioned at all. He has been gone for longer than he was with her, but that level of love and miss is kind of awesome.
Nana has been sad so we’ve had a day out.
We went out exploring the sales… St Albans, Hatfield and London Coney. It was interesting, tiring and we bought random stuff.
A collection of bizarre reduced vegetables collected more by their level of reduction than their logical link to each other…
I still maintain this is a Mandrake!
When you get a really early train because of anxiety of being late. And your train goes from Southampton to Woking and then goes no further.
You ask the SouthWest Trains man how to get to Richmond, and he replies via Clapham – this would be a good answer normally. But is followed up with but you can’t get there, no trains are running and we don’t know when they might start.
So thank you, thank you for two tickets costing £35.20 which have led to packed trains which terminate at stations they weren’t supposed to stop at, packed stations, and the very successful turning of a ticket to an international at Twickenham into a pointless peice of card – a very expensive bit of card. And while the bored screaming children are something to watch I’d rather watch men in shorts run around.
They sent us back to Basingstoke, and then once there the station staff directed us to a train with they guaranteed would go to Clapham. Then as we progressed the train said no Clapham, but each station we passed said Clapham.
And then we got to Woking, and stopped though it wasn’t scheduled to. And it terminated. Again.
The station staff said they didn’t know, might be hours.
Taxi from Woking to Twickenham became the only option, expensive, but after £35.20 for a train and a day and a Ticket. Better an expensive taxi than no match a day on trains and throwing away a hundred quid.
I actually hate the incompetence of SouthWest Trains.
The journey back was way less stressful with only a “break the glass and pull the handle to stop the train” that was over my head as a drunk man put his hand through it, I picked the bits out of my hair once I got home.
When the light at the end of the tunnel is not just out, but wilfully crushed.
Easter is not so far away.