Monday evening and I still ache from Saturday’s exertions. The joy of ageing! As some of you may be aware I missed the last train home. This realisation was whilst I was travelling southwards on the Northern Line at 11:45 and I’d just pulled up at Angel, Islington. I’m not going to get to London Bridge, Platform 15 in 8 minutes I thought. So I considered the night train option. The one that left London Bridge just after one and arrived at Hastings just before 8 am, with hours hanging around Brighton Station in between. But wait, Jafer lives one stop away from London Bridge. So I called him and woke him up at midnight and one hour later I was in his flat.
I got to spend a little time with him discussing the election and watching a replay of Football Focus before I set off and returned home 24 hours after I’d left. Perhaps I should have booked that Travelodge after all. Continue reading “Slow moves to Pressure Drop. Or Five Go Mad in Clerkenwell”