Thursday was not a good day. I was aware of the reports of storms crossing the country and the havoc, misery and death they were wreaking. I was aware of various colleagues checking out to see whether they could return home to the depths of commuter land. I heard of a couple of colleagues wanting to come home from Cambridge, a task made more difficult by the cancellation of trains.
Then I got a phonecall from Jimmy. He had locked the café and house keys in the café, the spare café keys in the house. I think he expected me to drop everything and go running. Not on your nelly. I suggested he came to me; he wouldn't. He said he would sleep in the car, or break into the house. Not bloody likely I said. I told him to speak to his brother who lives round the corner. My idea was "Do it now". His was, after I've had a few drinks, when I get round to it.
To cut a long story short, when I got home at past eleven he was in the car, shivering and freezing. His sister-in-law had left their house in the morning and managed to lock her keys in, so they ended up calling a locksmith. I was not happy at Jimmy. If he had been prepared to listen to me I would have suggested we met halfway for me to hand over keys.
I left the office with the intention of catching a bus. there was already minor excitement as a VVIP convoy traversed the crossroads. A police car as advance party, one leading and one following the convoy of three Range Rovers and an S Reg jag. Couldn't see who, but noticed a man in the back of one of the Range Rovers facing backwards and rapidly scanning the horizon. The vanguard stopped at the cross roads to block the crossroads and signal 'stop' to on-coming drivers. Not one but two cars decided to ignore this. I wondered what sort of idiot would ignore such a sign. Either someone who's not paying attention to the road or someone who is very stupid. In my mind, a police block is to be obeyed. Not especially in order to obey and help the police, but because it's possibly a sign of potential danger. In this instance the only danger was that of a head-on collision with a heavily policed convoy. This wouldn't be your standard prang. And I don't know if these VVIP police guards carry guns. I'd rather not find out.
The traffic was bumper to bumper on Millbank and no sign of buses, but plenty of people walking briskly to Parliament Square. Parliament Square was bumper-to-bumper. So was Whitehall. There were fire engines here, there and everywhere, probably attending alarms caused by the gales. I ended up walking all the way to Trafalgar Square, then, because it was only one bus stop's length, all the way to Covent Garden. From my desk to Il Ponti's in 45 minutes. Brisk march down Whitehall, I realised I was in step with everybody else. No pesky tourists, just workers wanting to get home or out for the evening.
Friday, the Sky man came. We got a new box. An 80 gig one to replace our previous 40 gig rubbish one. I knew it was rubbish because a) it wouldn't work and b) the engineer says there's a lot of problems with that model. Which I knew because I had read it on Digital Spy a year or more ago.
So I went out to the Sorting Office. Which isn't far, but it's uphill all the way back. I was out maybe half an hour. Which meant, coming on top of Thursday's yomp across London I was dead beat and totally knackered and aching.
Grrr. That really hacks me off.
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