Lobster boy

I didn’t sleep that well seeing as I was in a strange-ish bed with a fan right next to my ear. Still, it was lovely not having to rush around getting ready for a three hour trip into London.

Waking up in the flat is always lovely though the dawn chorus is sadly missed. I’m not sure that the clatter of the DLR, explosive shriek of seagulls and the noisy kids who seem to live on the street really qualify as a dawn chorus…but I could be wrong.

Anyway, we slowly settled into Sunday and, after Mirinda Skyped with Bob and Fi, we headed over to the Jubilee Line entrance to Canary Wharf (as opposed to the Canary Entrance to Jubilee Station) to meet Sally, Mark, Kate and Will.

Actually, to be completely honest, I went over as a sort of forward scout and Mirinda followed soon afterwards.

They all looked very well, none of them the worse for wear after their seemingly constant hours of Austrian skiing. (“Seven hours a day,” bragged Sally a few times.) And we were soon heading off for The Big Easy for lunch.

Of course we showed off Canary Wharf and the new Crossrail complex (complete with rooftop garden) before settling into our booth.

I was astounded at how busy the place was. I realise it’s popular after work during the week but who would have guessed it was so busy on a Sunday. Good job I booked us a table is all I can say.

It was at The Big Easy where we discovered how much Will loves lobster. For a 13 year old, he sure has a mature palate. Not only did he devour his own he also finished up everyone else’s. Not that everyone else had lobster. For one, I can’t stand lobster. I can only assume this is because my palate isn’t mature enough.

“MORE LOBSTER!”

All in all, the detritus from Will’s lunch notwithstanding, we had a lovely lunch. We chatted about politics and education and envy and…well everything that can be uncomfortably fitted into 2.5 hours. Then, sadly, we had to part company as Sally was visiting a friend who was flying into London especially while Kate was forcing her father and brother to go up Oxford Street. (I could only shudder at this prospect, glad it wasn’t me.)

Before parting, we promised to come and visit them in Orange when next we’re in NSW.

Then, of course, I had the enjoyable trip home.

Leaving Mirinda at the flat, I managed to get a Tube train to Waterloo before the 24 hour strike could start (at 6pm tonight) then looked despairingly at the indicator boards. The engineering work was still causing delays.

I switched from a train to a bus at Woking and then sat for an hour with a crowd of other unhappy trainless passengers heading for Farnham. Still, I shouldn’t complain. It only took an hour longer and I managed to get a seat on the bus and a space under a shelter at Woking during the rain. Others were not so fortunate.

I popped around to Sue and picked up the dogs before settling in for the night.