I was in the chemist this morning replenishing Mirinda’s depleted and essential drug supply, when I overheard this woman tell the shop assistant about the birth of a baby. I don’t know whose baby but it wasn’t either of the women talking.
Anyway, the woman telling the story went through the weight, the gender, the general health of the mother, etc, etc, as people tend to do with the end of a pregnancy and, as expected, I paid absolutely no attention at all. That is until the first woman recited the name of the baby and was asked to repeat it by the shop assistant.
The name of the child I have made the title of this post, because I think it’s pretty cool. I still have no idea regarding the child’s gender or if ‘Valentine’ is the surname or a second middle name…which means it’s not in the middle I suppose…
Three guesses where I went today…
No, not Sweden. I went to the Royal Opera House.
It was an unexpected trip into London in order to accomplish the Great Ticket Swap. When it comes to the ROH, this isn’t as easy as it would appear. Firstly I couldn’t swap the tickets over the phone because I don’t sound like Mirinda. I could, I assume, have asked Gail to pretend to be her and make it a lot easier but…well Mirinda had to call for the swap.
Having successfully (if somewhat annoyingly) changed her tickets to two seated together, the originals had to be taken to the box office before a reimbursement would be forthcoming. Mirinda called them to make sure I could change them before sending me off suitably armed. I was ready to give them what for seeing as they have to be the worst box office I’ve ever had to deal with. (Actually that’s not exactly true. The one in Budapest was pretty diabolical.)
The day was beautiful so I think my anticipated black mood towards the staff at the Opera House may have been somewhat more pleasant than it was at first envisioned. Add to that the fact that the woman who served me was nothing but helpful sweetness and cheer and my almost completely vanished anger, completely vanished. There was no problem at all. I gave her the old tickets, she gave me the new tickets, I left the box office (which is actually in the shop at the moment because of the extensive building works going on).
Mirinda has book group next Monday and, for reasons too dull to go into, the book has been posted to the flat. Obviously she won’t be staying there any time soon so I thought it would be an excellent idea to drop in and see if it was there. I headed for the Tube.
At Bank I switched to the DLR for a very pleasant ride across to South Quay. I was very quickly at the flat where I ascertained that the book had not yet been delivered. I checked the concierge but he didn’t have it either. In order to assuage my disappointment, I decided to treat myself to a ferry ride along the Thames.
And it was the perfect day for a ferry ride along with only a handful of tourists rather than the crowds that sometimes take up all available space.
I notice that the route has changed slightly since I last caught it, something Mirinda didn’t tell me. For a start there’s a new stop at Westminster.
Getting off at the London Eye I realised why there were no crowds on the ferry. They were all wandering around the South Bank like homeless cows hoping for a handful of grass. (Speaking of grass…I passed four people smoking grass today in Canary Wharf. Any more and I’m sure I’d have started feeling the effects.)
Something else I noticed (and Karen might be interested in this): The photo below is of the new flats that are being built next to the old Shell building beside Waterloo Station and directly opposite the London Eye. This seriously must be one of the best places to own a flat in London. I know I’d love one!
I unknowingly caught the train home with Mr Sandals. ‘Unknowingly’ because neither of us noticed the other until we arrived at Farnham and stood up to get off the train. We walked together, chatting, as far as Borelli Walk where he continued on home and I went to the shops.
We discussed various things like future holiday plans (Montenegro them, Japan us), the strange choices children make and how to look imperious over the top of your glasses. It was all very pleasant and suitably neighbourly.
Back at home, Mirinda wasn’t any better but she cheered slightly with the appearance of the ballet tickets.