I slept very well at the flat last night. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s one of the few times I remember sleeping all the way through. I think it’s the new decoration.
Speaking of which, I had a phone call regarding the curtain pole. The builder couldn’t find one. That’s not exactly true. He found one that wasn’t right – gold and metal – and the rest were too short. He was very apologetic but what could he do?
I went online and ordered what we needed and he’s going to come over next week after it’s arrived. Why I didn’t do this last week is a question I cannot answer.
I also didn’t hear from Emma, who was supposed to pick up the excess floor sections. I only had an email address for her and she didn’t respond.
Mirinda thought it was a waste of my time but that’s not entirely true. I managed to rearrange the red cherry lights, found the pictures that were hidden away and remounted the wooden birds.
I also managed to tick off a few more Caterham memorials, which is always good.
As a reward for all my labours and having to be around for no one to show up, I stopped off at the cafe downstairs on my way home. I intended to treat myself to a pistachio croissant.
They didn’t have any pistachio croissants
Instead they had custard croissants.
Disappointed, I had one. Very nice but not as good as the pistachio croissants.
At Waterloo I discovered that it was not going to be so easy to just get a train to Farnham. I had to get a train to Woking and change.
The train I caught took an age, dawdling via such outposts of the empire as Virginia Water and Staines. It was all very slow. I managed to read quite a bit of Thackeray.
I don’t know exactly how long it took but the train was travelling at that sort of speed that feels really slow without crawling. It’s one of those immutable facts that when a train tavels at this speed, the journey takes longer. It’s not perception: it’s fact.
The train from Woking to Farnham, on the other hand, was gloriously close to empty. I was soon home among Mirinda and puppies, gladly throwing off my shoes.
One odd thing that happened. A woman boarded the Tube at Canada Water. I noticed her because she looked like a young Victoria Hamilton. She was also wearing a distinctive cream coat. I noticed her then forgot about her.
As I left the train at Farnham there she was again. I hadn’t seen her at any of the connections and yet, there she was. All a bit unusual.
Another unusual thing was my sighting of Max. As I walked down the platform at the station, he drove across the railway crossing, heading up to Thursley. I figured Mirinda was taking the dogs for a walk and I’d be returning to an empty house. Except it wasn’t Max. It was his twin. It was a bit of a surprise arriving home to find Max in the driveway.