Sunday 22nd February 2015

Friday.

And here I am back at home, laying in bed, blinking in the half light as another dawn creeps over East Kent and round the edges of the bedroom curtains. Why can't it be Saturday? Instead it is Friday, and I have the day to get through, including another two hour tele-conference, and then there is the mails and lurking in the background, the spectre of the unassigned travel expenses.

I had a coffee, another coffee. Breakfast. And then switched the computer on the be greeted with the early morning avalanche of e mails. Those dealt with, I have 15 minutes before the meeting, an early lunch, another coffee. And settle down at the screen once again to listen to the meeting.

I don't know why, but come two in the afternoon, I have had enough, most of my colleagues have left the office, whatever else I need to do can wait to Monday. So I switch off too, go to the sofa and listen to more Radcliffe and Maconie whilst the cats bother me for an early dinner. I ignore them and close my eyes. Outside the sun sinks, and the day fades. But it means the weekend is to begin, which is clearly a good thing. In all, it has been a great week, with plaudits coming at me from all directions, at times I felt I was even enjoying the thrill of the battle and the challenges being thrown. Whatever next?

Jools came home at 5, and I had cooked pasta for dinner. I opened a bottle of wine to wash the pasta down with, and send me to sleep of course. The evening passes, we listen to the radio, listen to some music, but then agree that an early night is called for, as we were on our travels the next morning.

Saturday.

Aah, the weekend. It seems so long since we last met. However, thing about being busy is that the time seems to fly. A quick look at the calendar reveals it will be March in a week and the clocks go forward in 5 weeks. In truth the winter does not seem to have been that bad, again, although I have seen snow and bitter cold, not just here.

A few days back, a friend of mine posted shots of a fine Victorian church, and it seemed right when we thought about heading to London, that we should also pay it a visit. So, all there was to do was decide what else, if anything, we would like to do, and then make sure we were out of the house in time to catch a train. In the end it was the quarter to nince train from Martin Mill, trains to London via the high speed line now stop at the bottom of the hill, which means free parking, and a two minute drive there and back. Even still, we managed to leave the house with less than 10 minutes before departure time, would we make it?

Yes, and with more than 5 minutes to spare.



We get a seat with a table on the left hand side of the train, perfect for views over Dover as the train left Guston tunnel, and for the usual sights on the way into London that I like to see and mark our progress towards the city. The train is already busy, and pretty much full after we leave Folkestone, and standing room only once we leave Ashford. And these were supposed to be white elephants, now they are so well used.



Instead of getting off at Stratford when I fly out of LCY, we stay on to St Pancras. We wait until the crowds thin out, going through the barriers. Our plan was to go down the wonderful passageway to what is advertised at St Pancras Square, we go down to the tunnel leading to it, only to find the doors leading to it locked fast. We look in, take photos through the glass panels, and so decide to head for the church right away instead.



We walk to the Victoria Line, board a busy train to Oxford Circus, which is very busy indeed. We make our way up to street level, walk up Great Portland Street only to leave the crowds behind, the streets were ours, or ours and a few others taking the less busy paths avoiding the shopping in Oxford Street and Regent Street. We see the spire from the end of Margaret Street'c corner, we make our way along, me hoping that it would be open. I now take the cautious approach and write beforehand to make sure. The first door I see is locked, but there is another at the other corner of the courtyard, and it is open wide, and welcoming.



The church is splendid, highly decorated in the English Gothic Revival style: I may have given it the wrong name there, but it is fabulous nonetheless. Every surface is decorated, there are carvings, and decorated tiles everywhere. In contrast, two young men are sleeping here, almost certainly homeless and seeking somewhere warm in which to rest. We are quiet as I go round getting my shots.



As we leave, a lady is waving at us, we enter the house part of the church to where coffee and cakes are being served. Apparently there is a gathering of flower arrangers, but we are welcome to have some coffee. Cake? Its all very nice I have to say. The flower arrangers arrive, Jools and I make our excuses and leave. I have wanted to see inside All Souls outside the BBC at the top of Regent Street. When we arrive after a short two minute walk, there is a service under way, a funeral, or celebration of life, so we quietly leave and make our way to the small cafe in Little Portland Street for coffee and salt beef sandwiches.

Jools wants to visit a bead shop near Carnaby Street, its just a short walk away, ten minutes perhaps, but it means battling the hoards of shoppers. In Carnaby Street, my eye is caught by the Dr Martins shop: I need some waterproof shoes, what better than DMs? I go in while Jools looks for the bead shop. I try on the boots, they are good and look smart. Long gone are the days when a pair of ox blood 18 holers cost twenty quid, but these will do. Som good are they that I decide to wear them from the shop to home.

We call in at The Clachan for a drink, I have a pint of Wadworth chilli and chocolate, which is like liquid silk. With a kick. It is lovely, and I could have had several more, but we have decided that our day is done, and so we head back to St Pancras via the Victoria Line.

We have half an hour to kill, time for a coffee in the undercroft in a faux French Patisserie, it is good though, Americaos and generous slices of chocolate mousse gateaux. Hmmm, great.

Our train was due, so we go up to the platform, just as it rolls in. We take our usual seats, and I review the shots I have taken as the train fills up with shoppers and families. We get off at Martin Mill just before three, which means we are home as the main batch of games kick off. I switch the computer on and follow City at Watford. In the 2nd half, we get a dodgy penalty, but score two more fine goals to leapfrog over our opponents into 5th place, and being the only team in the top 6 to win, it leaves to Old Farm Derby next weekend to be even more crucial.

I cook breaded pork steaks for dinner, the sauteed jacket potatoes were perfect with some garlic mayo.

And that was your Saturday.