Went to see my lovely pal Fiona last night in London. I’ve not seen her in probably 8 years (when I bumped into her in the meat aisle of Sainsburys in town), and not spent any length of time with her for possibly a decade.
Fi lives in Spain and sells houses out there to rich-wannabe-ex-pats. And more power to her, I say.
It would seem that this weekend is a big holiday homes exhibition in London’s Docklands, so I hot-footed it back from work, dumped the car in Old Work’s car park, and ran for a train to London to go see Fiona for dinner in Covent Garden. We had a great time, and where the four hours went, god only knows. But I got a couple of cool pictures of us taken at Liverpool Street Station. I include one here for the comedy value [Pic: Look into my eyes, only my eyes, not around the eyes, but into my eyes…].
The journey back was of no interest, apart from the snoring woman across the corridor, and at least they bothered to put the heating on in the train (something they didn’t bother about on the way down to the City). On the way down, whilst stood at Ipswich Station I happend upon the following fine specimens of folk: work colleague Tom (now working for Royal & SunAlliance in London), Friday curry-night pals Simon and Shayne, BT employee of the year Trevor and occasional presenter of “Home Truths” Paul Heiney. Oh and Tim who used to teach Buz and I A-level computing at the Civic College.
Bought myself the now traditional copy of Private Eye for reading on the journey and enjoyed it mightily. Same old jokes but as I very rarely buy it these days there’s a comfort in the humour and always a wry smile at their investigative journalism and the exposes of the shenanigans at the Houses of Parliament, in the press and other national institutions. Ah Britain, where is your Greatness these days?