The House Husband

So I was enjoying a little afternoon snooze in front of my Netbook, pretending to absorb information about eBooks while Mirinda happily gazed at the words on her Sony eReader when I was suddenly whipped back into full consciousness. In the frenzy to remember what to pack from the flat for the trip to Bath tomorrow, she’d forgotten the power adapter for her laptop. It may have been a little amusing, watching her panic grow as she realised it was nowhere to be found in the house. My concern was that she had left it either in Dublin or on the train returning from Dublin. She assured me she hadn’t.

It was 3:20. We were due to go to the Spotted Cow for 7:30 for our anniversary dinner so I had to make tracks if I was to get to the flat and back in time. With all haste, I grabbed the essentials and was out of the door in five minutes. I would like to note at this stage that we both forgot our anniversary this year. As it was, Mirinda was in Dublin. It was Fiona who alerted Mirinda to the fact. Good job neither of us are particularly date focussed!

Anyway, back to the journey. The 3:58 train to Waterloo was strangely busy but I managed to get a modicum of work done on my hastily grabbed Netbook. I also managed to stay awake. No mean feat given the sleepy state of my brain.

Carmen has taken to waking me up by whacking me with her paw. This would be all well and good except she keeps doing it earlier and earlier. This is perhaps my own fault as I let the poodles sleep with me while Mirinda is in town. It’s actually very funny when they don’t wake up before the alarm. When it goes off they just go insane, wondering what it means. Such jolly fun!

The train, meanwhile, filled up by the time we arrived at Woking and I had a rather full trip into Waterloo but, strangely, it was quiet enough for me to work. It was a lot easier when the young Goth with the hair over her face stopped ripping lengths of stick tape off a roll. At least, I think that’s what she was doing. It sounded like she was but I couldn’t see her.

From the station, I made a hurried, dodging dash for the bus stop and almost immediately climbed aboard a number 4 bus. Things were going well. Even the diversion around St Paul’s wasn’t a problem. I arrived at the flat, ran in, grabbed the lead, which sat with all the élan of a panther in a tree, on the dining table amid the wreckage of DVDs and stuff I didn’t really look at, and was back on the street in about five minutes.

I stood at the bus stop, weighing up my options. I decided I would wait a maximum of ten minutes for a bus. If one hadn’t arrived by then, I’d grab a taxi. After about two minutes, I flagged down taxi. The driver managed to get me to Waterloo with enough time to buy a coffee at Nero’s before walking swiftly to platform 10 and boarding the 5:53 to Alton.

All was well in my safe little end of the carriage. A few people dotted around meant I could spread out over the two seats. My Netbook, my book, my coffee, all of it, comfy and handy. At the last minute, just before the train doors slammed guillotine-like shut, a sudden influx of puffing, running passengers meant I had to quickly gather all my bits together and share my space. All the way to Aldershot, I had to share my space!

Mirinda sent me a text to suggest she meet me at Farnham and we would drive straight to the Spotted Cow, alleviating the need for me to walk home. Sounded good to me.

And there she was. Actually waiting for me. We drove up to the Spotted Cow and had a lovely (and quite large) anniversary dinner before going home for an anniversary viewing of the latest Midsomer Murders, which was as hilarious as usual. Joyce really does make me laugh. And she was on fine form in this episode.

What an exciting day. Not one but two trips to London. Firstly, a lovely wander around St Katharine Docks with Mirinda which I will post about later. Secondly a rather unexpected mercy dash.

It was 9:36pm and the phone rang. I was absorbed in the England v Egypt friendly match live from Wembley. England started playing pretty badly but, after a half time dressing down by the manager, they had scored twice and were totally dominating the game. I put the TV on mute and answered the phone.

A faint voice was on the other end. So faint I could hardly hear it. I thought an alien was trying to contact me from the rings of Saturn. Then I realised it was Mirinda, sounding like she was way down a well.

“I’ve locked myself out of the flat,” she whispered, mysteriously.
“How did you do that?” I asked, chuckling inwardly.
“That’s not important,” Came a curt response. “Can you come over with your set, please?”
“It’s 9:37,” I said, looking at the clock. “I’ll have to leave NOW!”

I hung up, put the dogs in the dining room, changed out of my pyjamas and back into my jeans & t-shirt, grabbed my bag and raced out of the house. I had to make the 10pm or I’d never make it back home. I jogged most of the way to the station, making it in a record time – less than 15 minutes.

The journey back into London was uneventful, though strangely crowded. I was first off the train, rushing to the ATM for some cash then into the first cab at the rank. The driver kindly told me the end result of the football (England won 3-1) and managed to get me to the flat in eight minutes.

I raced in and Mirinda was nowhere to be found. I looked into the flat. It was like she’d just disappeared. Or stepped out for a moment. I wondered where she was waiting and then the brilliant thought struck me. She’d be downstairs in the pool area.

I ran down the stairs, two at a time to find her sitting just inside the door, wedged open with a wet floor sign because it automatically locks at 11pm, reading. She was surprised I’d been so quick.

We went back upstairs and I let her in. She then admitted that she’d taken her washing downstairs and realised, far too late, that she’d taken the wrong keys with her. She’d had to borrow some stranger’s phone to call me, which explained why she had been so curt.

But there was little time to chat. A quick visit to the loo, a quick glass of water and I was off again.

I had to get back to Waterloo before midnight or I’d be back at the flat. I ran out into the main street and flagged down a cab. He raced across London, dropping me outside the main entrance just two minutes late for the 11:23. Damn.

I had time for a coffee before boarding the next train to Woking. The last train to Alton leaves Woking at 12:40. The train I was on was crawling along and I was frantically willing it to go faster.

As it turned out I arrived ten minutes before it left. In fact, it was sitting at the station waiting for me.

I finally arrived back home at about 1:30, exhausted. As I opened the front door I was attacked by two excited poodles. I realised I’d raced out so quickly, I’d forgotten to close the door to the dining room. They took an age to calm down.

So. Now I’m going to sleep. It’s been a big day.