Flower power

In my last post I meant to talk about my big night out, but got sidetracked by the whole phone idiocy thing.

So.

What with the lighter evenings, my newfound confidence in finding my way when walking around London, and a bit less stress and anxiety in general, a mid-week social life seemed to be a good idea.

Monday nights are now officially "stay in Chelsea" nights, with my lovely mate, but things aren't ending there. No, indeed.

I had a call from a former colleague who was in London for a couple of days, suggesting we meet for a chat and a catch-up after work. So we did. And it was lovely. We met, went to a pub, had a drink, caught up on all the stuff that is going on in our work lives respectively, then I dashed off to catch my train and he headed off to a late meeting. How civilised.

When we were arranging where to meet he said "I'll wear a red carnation." Sure enough, when I arrived, he had a flower in his lapel, albeit a rose, not a carnation. Anyway, he gave it to me, once the joke was over.

I walked back to Waterloo Station admiring the lovely riverside views, and smelling my flower, which has kept the scent right up till now. I think it's the same variety as one we have in the garden, which lasts for ages and smells wonderful.

The old chap sat next to me on the train noticed it, so I let him have a sniff*.

When he showed his ticket to the conductor there was a lot of banter. He had used an automatic ticket machine, and pressed the Young Person button instead of the Senior button. The conductor asked him for evidence that he was under 25. It was all very good-natured, and made people smile.

But oh lordy, that conductor liked the sound of his own voice. He made announcements over the intercom system roughly every five minutes, detailing what the next station stop was, where you could go from there, what the chief local attractions were, who he knew that used to live there. It went on for bloody ever.

The train divides at Salisbury. The front half half continues trundling on to Exeter, the rest of the train gets detached and stays in Salisbury. It's not complicated.

We had every single possible permutation of that information that you can imagine over the 90 minutes between Waterloo and Salisbury. At least ten times.

Other news: Mr WithaY and one of our neighbours were moving a shed** around this afternoon, which was awkward, so they apparently ended up "turning it into a sedan chair." Now they think they have the basis for a sound business venture - sedan chairs to take you home from the pub.

I'll let you know if they make a million on the back of that.




*That's not something you get to say every day.

**"It's liftable by two people, but not by one" was how it was described over the phone. I am guessing that appies to most sheds, surely? If one person can lift it, it's a playhouse. A small one.