Sunday 6th March 2022

Well, I’ve not had this for a fair few months: travel and getting ready for travel on Sunday. And any kind of travel, at least for work.

This week was supposed to be the great team meeting, those of us from Europe, get together, have a workshop, drinks, a meal, celebrate Henrik’s 60th birthday. And meet the new boss. Who has been my boss for the last 13 months. Only he got relaced last week, the team event cancelled due to COVID, but I had booked my tickets and it was almost as cheap to go as not to.

So I went.

Or will be.

And as flights through London City were stopped due to the pandemic, they never restarted, so I have to go through lovely Heathrow, and even with a departure time of 08:40, I still needed to spend the night in that London so I could just travel from there to the airport in the morning.

I had convinced myself that the transit through Amsterdam would be a nightmare, but for now, just looked forward to the next hour, not to half six when I would have to leave. I had said I would stay and watch the Manchester derby before leaving.

Priorities and all that.

So, after coffee, breakfast, second coffee and second breakfast, we felt well disposed enough to go out for a while. Just to Covet Wood for some orchid hunting and maybe some fungi too.

We met no cyclists on the way to the wood. Maybe too muddy? No matter. We parked at the hard standing, put on our boots and coats, walking up to the gallop, where just as there were last year, a large group of Scarlet Elf Cup fungi, some of a large, even huge size.

We walk up the slope, though the mud, finding a few Early Purple rosettes, before dropping down the bridleway where there were dozens of rosettes, among the bluebells and primroses.

Across the lane and up the path. Jools carried on a circular walk, while I delved into the wood searching for more orchid rosettes. I was rewarded with dozens of plump Lady Rosettes, just emerging, but looking in rude health.

I walked back to the car to wait for Jools, she must have gone on a detour as I had to wait fifteen minutes. Anyway, she came back, and after changing into our shoes, drove back home up Railway Hill, though the village and onto the A2 to home.

Time was short now, I made lunch: bangers and mash, which we made disappear. Then a shower for me, change into come clean clothes, then pack the case and make sure I had all my work stuff. And passport and e ticket information.

The football is excellent, City giving Utd a hiding, then there was just enough time to load the cases and me into the car, Jools to drive me to the station, buy a ticket, then wait on the cold and dark platform.

On me travels.

The train was late.

It arrived, we got on and waited while the driver went to the other end, and a fashionably late five minutes, the train pulled out and I closed my eyes.

Not much to see at night, other than my reflection.

I got out at Stratford, walked through the empty shopping centre to the regional station, getting on a Jubilee Line train. Most people on both trains had masks on, pleased to report. Upper levels were closed, but others just pushed the barriers aside. I followed them, but once at the overbridge to the station, doors from the centre were locked. But one level down a new entrance to the regional station had appeared, so I walked to the platform.

The train rattled and screamed its way though London’s Docklands, under Southwark spitting me out at Waterloo.

It’s a short walk from there to the Union Jack Club. I had reserved a room, I got a key, dumped my case, then went back down to the par for a pint and a plate of chips. The beer was good, the chips were fries, so not so good. Around me friends chatted, mostly army types, though their wives were louder.

We’re not much walkers now are we? They said.

I drink up, go back to my room and watch the evening trains rattle and stop at Waterloo East some 50m away. I read and felt tired, so went to sleep, stressing that my alarm wouldn’t go off at five the next morning, six hours away.