travelling

Having done the super-sensible thing and arranged to stay overnight near Southend on Tuesday ready for a meeting yesterday morning, I got caught in the office and didn't leave till 5pm, not really a good time to go driving but traffic was moving nicely and I had plenty of time to do the 40 miles to get to St Pauls. Argued with myself all the way to the M25 if I was going to go adventuring in London traffic to get to the LLM or just go home. Two hours to home, hour and a half to St Pauls, said multimap.

Adventuring won on the basis that I'd be really teed off if I missed it, and I was unfairly punished by an hour long crawl on the A12 because of an accident in the Blackwall tunnel, which I didn't want or need to use. Crawling might have been faster than sitting in the car, but the music was good. Maybe I should get myself a satnav that works, memorising the easy bits and following signs for the rest isn't the most effective form of navigation.

In my inimitable style I'd managed to get lost about a mile from St Pauls; causing another long internal debate about whether it was worth it, especially since, by then, I was in a filthy temper. Sheer cussedness won the day and I got my are-you-coming-tonight call from Paula just as I drove past the front of the wine bar. Another ten minutes at least to figure out where I could park and to find a place to turn round and go back; kerbing the bloody wheel on the way. Kerbs are NOT supposed to be a foot high!

Three hours. THREE hours!!! sssssssssssssssssake!

Peace and good cheer ensued when I did finally arrive, turned down the wine since I don't seem to have any gap between getting and being drunk with wine, and treated myself to a double Balvenie and coke for measured solace. LLM was really good, lot of laughs including Nikki losing the plot and spluttering the ice back in her drink when someone airily mentioned sex. OK, so there was rather more to it than that but you had to have been there.

Anyone used to driving in London knows that crossing Waterloo Bridge is entirely unnecessary either to get to St Pauls from Southend, or to get back to Aylesbury from there, but I did. Four times in all. At least I finally found one of the few routes I do know but then got an itchy head about Mark and called him; it would have been rude to be within half a mile and not see if he was in. It's all *his* fault. The drink waiting for me on the coffee table was most welcome, hot, and non-alcoholic, as planned. Plans to go home went a bit awry and a fair amount of scotch and coke followed it, so I was bushbaby zinged till silly o'clock. Doubtless he blames *me*.

He made me cry! Well, watching "The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas" had me in tears, despite having been warned and seeing it coming.

Past tired now I'm home; forgot I set the first alarm for 7:30 and got up then instead of having the extra half hour before racing the traffic warden to my car; Boris Johnson is welcome to his £8, it was worth the extra 90 minutes even if it is entirely extortionate for a half mile escape from the congestion zone. But NOW I've discovered I have to go to Telford tomorrow - deep joy, not. I could go this afternoon but I'd probably fall asleep on the motorway.

"Love is" - sticking to your Valentine arrangements even when you find out Six Nations is on the box. Dinner will be en suite or very late.

ahhhhhhhhh, and Mark sent me these
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*edited once I remembered how to do links properly