Trains agains

Friday, February 15th, 2008 10:55 am
caddyman: (commute)
Tedious beyond belief. Severe delays going home last night, severe delays coming in to work this morning. Signal failures at Highgate and then at East Finchley. This is the service I pat over £1,300 a year to use.

To add insult to injury, the announcer at Totteridge and Whetstone had an accent: “Ladies and Geddlemen. There are sibber dillies on the Northern Line due to earlier siggal failure at East Fwishley.” It would have been amusing had it not virtually been on loop. As it was, your mild mannered correspondent simply wished to wrench the tannoy off the post and shove it down someone’s throat.

It was clear that whoever recorded the message wasn’t paying any attention to what he was reading, either. After waiting ten minutes (and still no train, crowded or otherwise), the message changed to announce “minor delays” but with the added cryptic remark at the end “…but this is irrelevant for this station closure”.

I woke up all perky and rested. Now I just want to doze off again.

Trains agains

Friday, February 15th, 2008 10:55 am
caddyman: (commute)
Tedious beyond belief. Severe delays going home last night, severe delays coming in to work this morning. Signal failures at Highgate and then at East Finchley. This is the service I pat over £1,300 a year to use.

To add insult to injury, the announcer at Totteridge and Whetstone had an accent: “Ladies and Geddlemen. There are sibber dillies on the Northern Line due to earlier siggal failure at East Fwishley.” It would have been amusing had it not virtually been on loop. As it was, your mild mannered correspondent simply wished to wrench the tannoy off the post and shove it down someone’s throat.

It was clear that whoever recorded the message wasn’t paying any attention to what he was reading, either. After waiting ten minutes (and still no train, crowded or otherwise), the message changed to announce “minor delays” but with the added cryptic remark at the end “…but this is irrelevant for this station closure”.

I woke up all perky and rested. Now I just want to doze off again.

A plan no less!

Wednesday, October 4th, 2006 10:45 am
caddyman: (Psychedelic)
I need a new duvet; an intermediate duvet. I think I was a bit chilly from time to time last night, which is why I am so tired this morning: I know I woke up a couple of times as I recall looking at the clock, but I also dozed off again.

Last winter it never got cold enough for me to break out my hyper-insulated 6,000 tog monster duvet and I got by quite happily with the summer duvet and tee shirts augmented by occasional use of the central heating. At the moment though, I keep eying the monster with trepidation. It is folded up on the floor next to the bed. We dragged it out for the exclusive use of Miss Furtle (it is getting too chilly of a night to wake up to find the preferred duvet wrapped around the loved one, while I chisel off encroaching ice sheets).

One duvet each, see: that was the idea.

Except that with two people and two double duvets, one of which is a monster (duvet, he says hastily) the bed suddenly becomes exceptionally crowded. Anyway, that worked for one night, but then even Miss Furtle gave up on it as 6,000 togs is just too much this side of an Arctic winter.

So we're back to square one.

This weekend I shall be investigating the possibility of two duvets – larger than singles, but smaller than doubles. The revised plan then: a duvet each, both with a few more togs than the summer one and both with far less of the lead-melty heat of the winter duvet.

And moon boots; I hate cold feet. Even occasional ones.

Cor.

A plan no less!

Wednesday, October 4th, 2006 10:45 am
caddyman: (Psychedelic)
I need a new duvet; an intermediate duvet. I think I was a bit chilly from time to time last night, which is why I am so tired this morning: I know I woke up a couple of times as I recall looking at the clock, but I also dozed off again.

Last winter it never got cold enough for me to break out my hyper-insulated 6,000 tog monster duvet and I got by quite happily with the summer duvet and tee shirts augmented by occasional use of the central heating. At the moment though, I keep eying the monster with trepidation. It is folded up on the floor next to the bed. We dragged it out for the exclusive use of Miss Furtle (it is getting too chilly of a night to wake up to find the preferred duvet wrapped around the loved one, while I chisel off encroaching ice sheets).

One duvet each, see: that was the idea.

Except that with two people and two double duvets, one of which is a monster (duvet, he says hastily) the bed suddenly becomes exceptionally crowded. Anyway, that worked for one night, but then even Miss Furtle gave up on it as 6,000 togs is just too much this side of an Arctic winter.

So we're back to square one.

This weekend I shall be investigating the possibility of two duvets – larger than singles, but smaller than doubles. The revised plan then: a duvet each, both with a few more togs than the summer one and both with far less of the lead-melty heat of the winter duvet.

And moon boots; I hate cold feet. Even occasional ones.

Cor.

Meh

Wednesday, October 4th, 2006 08:36 am
caddyman: (Sid James)
Didn't seem to sleep so well last night.

I'm still tired and my toes are cold.

Grumble.

Meh

Wednesday, October 4th, 2006 08:36 am
caddyman: (Sid James)
Didn't seem to sleep so well last night.

I'm still tired and my toes are cold.

Grumble.
caddyman: (Morning!)
Oy, but I’m tired. Didn’t sleep so well last night for some reason and I was plum tuckered after the trip back to London, too; maybe that last cup of coffee around 12.30 was a touch less wise than it seemed at the time. Never mind, I shall be sneaking off early today. It’s games night. Actually I have cancelled games night as I will have family matters to attend to, but no need to tell the good people hereabouts that, eh?

Not as many emails awaiting my attention as I thought there would be. The rule telling the system to divert everything to the trash bin and delete it obviously works (I jest: it doesn’t). That said, I have only just managed to log in. The IT people did something clever to the servers over the weekend. They did something so clever that no-one could log on to the system. Hurrah. Clearly it’s all back up and running now, but it did take a while to get going and I quite liked being told that I was "LDAP Contextless: No LDAP server specified". I don’t know what it means as such, but it made me feel special.

Along with everyone else in the building. We’re all special.

Ah well, I could do some work, but frankly I am more likely to log on to the O2 website and work out what settings I need on my phone to be able to send and receive multi media messages. Not that I am, massively worried if I can’t fathom it, you understand, but since the phone and network are both capable of this feat of technology, I don’t see why I should have to miss out.

More drivel later, I would imagine, once the caffeine has soaked into my system properly.
caddyman: (Morning!)
Oy, but I’m tired. Didn’t sleep so well last night for some reason and I was plum tuckered after the trip back to London, too; maybe that last cup of coffee around 12.30 was a touch less wise than it seemed at the time. Never mind, I shall be sneaking off early today. It’s games night. Actually I have cancelled games night as I will have family matters to attend to, but no need to tell the good people hereabouts that, eh?

Not as many emails awaiting my attention as I thought there would be. The rule telling the system to divert everything to the trash bin and delete it obviously works (I jest: it doesn’t). That said, I have only just managed to log in. The IT people did something clever to the servers over the weekend. They did something so clever that no-one could log on to the system. Hurrah. Clearly it’s all back up and running now, but it did take a while to get going and I quite liked being told that I was "LDAP Contextless: No LDAP server specified". I don’t know what it means as such, but it made me feel special.

Along with everyone else in the building. We’re all special.

Ah well, I could do some work, but frankly I am more likely to log on to the O2 website and work out what settings I need on my phone to be able to send and receive multi media messages. Not that I am, massively worried if I can’t fathom it, you understand, but since the phone and network are both capable of this feat of technology, I don’t see why I should have to miss out.

More drivel later, I would imagine, once the caffeine has soaked into my system properly.
caddyman: (Sid James)
A good weekend spoilt by the journey home. A motto I feel, for the twenty-first century.

Friday saw your correspondent go to Marlow direct from the office for a games weekend with friends. One of the other chaps in attendance is a rather odd cove, but he managed to be merely annoying and not intolerable for once. And since he brought the games and stood us all a Chinee on Saturday night, I was inclined to forgive his annoying eccentricities.

No, the bulk of the weekend was good and I enjoyed the games, the company and the leeching off someone’s wireless link.

The fun came grinding to a halt on Sunday evening. I use the phrase ‘grinding to a halt’ advisedly, for there is no more descriptive way of relating the journey home.

I left Marlow (cadging a lift from mine host) at 7.30 with a view to catching the 8.00 train from High Wycombe. A half hour allocation for a 7 mile journey should be more than enough even for the over-populated South East of England.

Or so you’d think.

Anyway, I was less than pleased to arrive at High Wycombe station at 8.50 having spent much of the intervening hour and twenty minutes sitting in a traffic jam on the lead up to Junction 4 of the M4. Expect Delays the sign said. It wasn’t joking. The entire junction was re-routed, coned off, part dug up and generally in a mess. I saw one man toying with a pick axe and as we went around the roundabout, another couple of blokes wandering around like a detachment from rent-a-mob, scratching their bums and trying to make it look as though there were, in fact, more than three people there and that work was being done.

My misery at this point had been compounded by the fact that in an attempt to keep his six year old daughter quiet (she had come along for the twenty minute return trip –Ha!) Martin was playing a chart compilation CD she likes1.

The 9.00 train was mercifully on time, but back in London the Underground was having its usual weekend spasms, so it was on to the rail replacement service at Camden Town as far as East Finchley. To be fair, once I found the (unmarked) bus stop it was operating from, it wasn’t much slower than the tube would have been. But exiting Camden Town station and finding the stop is an exercise in existential Hell all of its own. At that time of night on a Sunday, the place is crowded with revellers aged between 16 and 35, I would guess; most of them drunk and all of them in high spirits and largely oblivious of anyone not indulging in their own brand of hedonism. It is a poor place to be if you are sober, hot, tired, weighed down with bags and just want to find an unidentified bus stop and go home.

Eventually I got to East Finchley, more worn out than ever. From there, I decided I couldn’t be bothered to go on to the station and pick up the tube again. That would have involved lugging stuff up the hill at Whetstone and I really, really, couldn’t be arsed, so I decided that the 263 bus was a better choice. Except that after a lengthy wait, the 234 presented itself as a better option. Poor choices all round. The 234 buggers off through a panoramic (?) and lengthy itinerary around Muswell Hill before getting on with the real business of heading out to Barnet.

11.30 is not a good time to get home after a journey covering at most 60 miles and taking four hours.

I didn’t sleep too well either, though I managed to conjure up an intriguing dream in which [livejournal.com profile] romney had decided to install a very expensive and Heath Robinson fire prevention devise in his flat as a viable alternative to tidying up. The irony was, of course, that he had to move all of the offending detritus to make room for the workmen to install the thing. Still, it was a work of beauty and he demonstrated how the tough plastic shutters effectively trapped flames against the glass in the windows where they slowly went out through lack of material to burn. The flat, denuded of all other content had assumed the proportions of a warehouse and as we were pondering this we were called to church by another mutual friend who had unaccountably become a vicar. That’s when I woke up at 5 am desperate for a pee.

Normally it is Elle who has and remembers the odd dreams. I must be channelling. Either way I am very tired today and like to call off the evening’s game session; we are short of a [livejournal.com profile] ruletwo anyway, as he has been off defeating the enemies of Parliament.

1A comparatively elderly CD too, judging by the content. I was not particularly wound up by Britney Spears or even, surprisingly, the Cheeky Girls. I sat through four consecutive replays of an unidentified Latin-stylee dance number and that didn’t wind me up either. Then came a song about McDonald’s, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Pizza Hut. I traded a sixty second limit on listening to that for a re-set of the CD to track one. It’s stuff like that that make you realise precisely what a mistress of her art is Britney. God help us.
caddyman: (Sid James)
A good weekend spoilt by the journey home. A motto I feel, for the twenty-first century.

Friday saw your correspondent go to Marlow direct from the office for a games weekend with friends. One of the other chaps in attendance is a rather odd cove, but he managed to be merely annoying and not intolerable for once. And since he brought the games and stood us all a Chinee on Saturday night, I was inclined to forgive his annoying eccentricities.

No, the bulk of the weekend was good and I enjoyed the games, the company and the leeching off someone’s wireless link.

The fun came grinding to a halt on Sunday evening. I use the phrase ‘grinding to a halt’ advisedly, for there is no more descriptive way of relating the journey home.

I left Marlow (cadging a lift from mine host) at 7.30 with a view to catching the 8.00 train from High Wycombe. A half hour allocation for a 7 mile journey should be more than enough even for the over-populated South East of England.

Or so you’d think.

Anyway, I was less than pleased to arrive at High Wycombe station at 8.50 having spent much of the intervening hour and twenty minutes sitting in a traffic jam on the lead up to Junction 4 of the M4. Expect Delays the sign said. It wasn’t joking. The entire junction was re-routed, coned off, part dug up and generally in a mess. I saw one man toying with a pick axe and as we went around the roundabout, another couple of blokes wandering around like a detachment from rent-a-mob, scratching their bums and trying to make it look as though there were, in fact, more than three people there and that work was being done.

My misery at this point had been compounded by the fact that in an attempt to keep his six year old daughter quiet (she had come along for the twenty minute return trip –Ha!) Martin was playing a chart compilation CD she likes1.

The 9.00 train was mercifully on time, but back in London the Underground was having its usual weekend spasms, so it was on to the rail replacement service at Camden Town as far as East Finchley. To be fair, once I found the (unmarked) bus stop it was operating from, it wasn’t much slower than the tube would have been. But exiting Camden Town station and finding the stop is an exercise in existential Hell all of its own. At that time of night on a Sunday, the place is crowded with revellers aged between 16 and 35, I would guess; most of them drunk and all of them in high spirits and largely oblivious of anyone not indulging in their own brand of hedonism. It is a poor place to be if you are sober, hot, tired, weighed down with bags and just want to find an unidentified bus stop and go home.

Eventually I got to East Finchley, more worn out than ever. From there, I decided I couldn’t be bothered to go on to the station and pick up the tube again. That would have involved lugging stuff up the hill at Whetstone and I really, really, couldn’t be arsed, so I decided that the 263 bus was a better choice. Except that after a lengthy wait, the 234 presented itself as a better option. Poor choices all round. The 234 buggers off through a panoramic (?) and lengthy itinerary around Muswell Hill before getting on with the real business of heading out to Barnet.

11.30 is not a good time to get home after a journey covering at most 60 miles and taking four hours.

I didn’t sleep too well either, though I managed to conjure up an intriguing dream in which [livejournal.com profile] romney had decided to install a very expensive and Heath Robinson fire prevention devise in his flat as a viable alternative to tidying up. The irony was, of course, that he had to move all of the offending detritus to make room for the workmen to install the thing. Still, it was a work of beauty and he demonstrated how the tough plastic shutters effectively trapped flames against the glass in the windows where they slowly went out through lack of material to burn. The flat, denuded of all other content had assumed the proportions of a warehouse and as we were pondering this we were called to church by another mutual friend who had unaccountably become a vicar. That’s when I woke up at 5 am desperate for a pee.

Normally it is Elle who has and remembers the odd dreams. I must be channelling. Either way I am very tired today and like to call off the evening’s game session; we are short of a [livejournal.com profile] ruletwo anyway, as he has been off defeating the enemies of Parliament.

1A comparatively elderly CD too, judging by the content. I was not particularly wound up by Britney Spears or even, surprisingly, the Cheeky Girls. I sat through four consecutive replays of an unidentified Latin-stylee dance number and that didn’t wind me up either. Then came a song about McDonald’s, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Pizza Hut. I traded a sixty second limit on listening to that for a re-set of the CD to track one. It’s stuff like that that make you realise precisely what a mistress of her art is Britney. God help us.
caddyman: (Default)
Today is going to be a real swine to get through. I am just about to have my third coffee of the morning – in fact I am seriously thinking about wandering out to Starbucks and buying something with enough caffeine to give me heart palpitations.

Suffice it to say that I am tired – bone weary tired. After the power cut was over last night, even with the fan blaring away it never got cool, just less warm. There was no decent thunderstorm, just a brief spattering of rain, enough to ramp up the humidity levels a notch further.

I am sick of it. I got the joke weeks ago and it’s not funny any more. Roll on the autumn (but that's two months away).

The hot weather is causing tempers to fray, too. People are sullen and offhand and quick to take offence for the merest hint of a sleight even where one was clearly not intended. It won’t be long before there’s a good old fist fight out on Victoria Street, or around one of the tube stations (though the intense heat on some of the lines, particularly the Victoria Line may militate against this).

Now I am as placid a fellow as you could hope to meet as a rule, and even I am liable to get snarky over the most pointlessly inconsequential of things at the moment, particularly if there is even the merest hint of dehydration. The upshot is that I really don’t want to deal with any of our ‘stakeholders’ on the phone for fear of a sarcasm overflow. At least when writing I can edit my words, but verbally, my idiot filter is clogged up and not likely to work properly again until after I have had a long night’s sleep, which in itself looks to remain unlikely until the temperatures drop a considerable number of degrees for a prolonged period. I really envy [livejournal.com profile] ellefurtle’s magical ability to doze off at the drop of a hat.
caddyman: (Default)
Today is going to be a real swine to get through. I am just about to have my third coffee of the morning – in fact I am seriously thinking about wandering out to Starbucks and buying something with enough caffeine to give me heart palpitations.

Suffice it to say that I am tired – bone weary tired. After the power cut was over last night, even with the fan blaring away it never got cool, just less warm. There was no decent thunderstorm, just a brief spattering of rain, enough to ramp up the humidity levels a notch further.

I am sick of it. I got the joke weeks ago and it’s not funny any more. Roll on the autumn (but that's two months away).

The hot weather is causing tempers to fray, too. People are sullen and offhand and quick to take offence for the merest hint of a sleight even where one was clearly not intended. It won’t be long before there’s a good old fist fight out on Victoria Street, or around one of the tube stations (though the intense heat on some of the lines, particularly the Victoria Line may militate against this).

Now I am as placid a fellow as you could hope to meet as a rule, and even I am liable to get snarky over the most pointlessly inconsequential of things at the moment, particularly if there is even the merest hint of dehydration. The upshot is that I really don’t want to deal with any of our ‘stakeholders’ on the phone for fear of a sarcasm overflow. At least when writing I can edit my words, but verbally, my idiot filter is clogged up and not likely to work properly again until after I have had a long night’s sleep, which in itself looks to remain unlikely until the temperatures drop a considerable number of degrees for a prolonged period. I really envy [livejournal.com profile] ellefurtle’s magical ability to doze off at the drop of a hat.

(no subject)

Thursday, July 27th, 2006 08:05 am
caddyman: (bewildered Opus)
Urgle...

Power cut at 10.45 last night lasted until around 12.15 am. Just an hour and a half, but in the dark with no fan in this heat was intolerable. Too hot to sleep, too dark to do anything.

Well, almost.

And to add to the fun, it was one of those nights that didn't really cool down. I was still warm at 4am and 5 am. Not bakingly hot but warm, so that means the temperatures will be commensurately higher today. I think in all I may have managed about 31/2 hours sleep. It's not enough; I shall be dead on my feet in the office today.

And my forearms ache.

Even lizards must be getting bored with this weather. It's not even August yet. I should have bought that really big fan that tempted me during the toaster hunt on Tuesday...

(no subject)

Thursday, July 27th, 2006 08:05 am
caddyman: (bewildered Opus)
Urgle...

Power cut at 10.45 last night lasted until around 12.15 am. Just an hour and a half, but in the dark with no fan in this heat was intolerable. Too hot to sleep, too dark to do anything.

Well, almost.

And to add to the fun, it was one of those nights that didn't really cool down. I was still warm at 4am and 5 am. Not bakingly hot but warm, so that means the temperatures will be commensurately higher today. I think in all I may have managed about 31/2 hours sleep. It's not enough; I shall be dead on my feet in the office today.

And my forearms ache.

Even lizards must be getting bored with this weather. It's not even August yet. I should have bought that really big fan that tempted me during the toaster hunt on Tuesday...
caddyman: (Psychedelic)
I think that I am allergic to Sunday nights. No matter what I do, it is rare that I sleep properly and Monday mornings are consequently more of a chore than they need to be because I am tired before I even start.

Last night I was hunkered down for sleep by about 1am (sounds late, but I usually turn in around an hour later), but back at the PC faffing around by 1.40 having lain there unable to doze off for 40 minutes. Thereafter I recall looking at the clock at around three and then, after a really rather odd dream, which for once, I can partially remember, I woke up again just a few minutes after 4am with a bit of a headache. So I got up, wandered around in the pre-sunrise glimmer, checked my email and had a smoke. By 4.25 I had managed to scare the bejasus out of [livejournal.com profile] ellefurtle by switching on the bedside lamp to find the paracetamol as it had fallen from the bedside table into the deep gloom below as yet un-illuminated by the dawn. Despite the accusing look I got (followed by further snores), the tablets and a glass of squash did the trick and the headache disappeared, so I was able to snatch another three hours or so sleep before the alarm.

But I really did not want to get up at that point.

The annoying thing, see, is that I deliberately made sure that I was out of bed before 10.30 yesterday morning, that being about the maximum lie in I can safely have on a Sunday commensurate with any sleep at all on Sunday night. I may as well have lolled around until midday for all the good it did.

I wonder if this is all to do with the sudden influx of vitamins into my system. Thursday and Friday both saw me eating salads for my main meal. Saturday was a salad sandwich with a bit of chicken and yesterday was a baked potato with coleslaw and grated cheese. Mind you, I did rather overdo it with the grated cheese, [livejournal.com profile] ellefurtle had a reasonable helping thereof, but I had An unreasonably large helping (sometimes you just have to tell yourself to stop grating, already!). It was very tasty, though.

Now I come to think of it, that amount of cheese may well have contributed to my disturbed sleep, though we finished eating by about 9.30, so it would be a bit of a stretch...

Annoyingly, in the dream stakes I find myself able to remember the beginning and end of the dream, but not the middle bit. I am lucky, I guess, to remember even that much; my (sleeping) nights are usually just dreamless voids which disappear in the blink of an eye. At the beginning, I was in a dark bar or club with some (unidentified) friends when I recognised (of all people) Angel (David Boreanaz) looking somewhat perturbed. This led to a request for help, a rather film-noire episode in a dilapidated hotel in which unidentified friends and I escaped by the skin of our teeth (from what I don’t know). One of us having mislaid his jacket and me having lost my mobile phone. At some point the friends thinned out in n umber until it was suddenly [livejournal.com profile] romney, [livejournal.com profile] colonel_maxim and me trying to get a night bus home from an unidentified part of central London. We missed the bus and ended up taking a [livejournal.com profile] colonel_maxim short cut, which led to me waking up with a headache just about the time the three of us were strung out along a dark country road arguing about whether to go back or to continue. I think my brain rebelled after one non-sequitur too many.

Waking up before finding out what it’s all about. That could be a parable of my life.
caddyman: (Psychedelic)
I think that I am allergic to Sunday nights. No matter what I do, it is rare that I sleep properly and Monday mornings are consequently more of a chore than they need to be because I am tired before I even start.

Last night I was hunkered down for sleep by about 1am (sounds late, but I usually turn in around an hour later), but back at the PC faffing around by 1.40 having lain there unable to doze off for 40 minutes. Thereafter I recall looking at the clock at around three and then, after a really rather odd dream, which for once, I can partially remember, I woke up again just a few minutes after 4am with a bit of a headache. So I got up, wandered around in the pre-sunrise glimmer, checked my email and had a smoke. By 4.25 I had managed to scare the bejasus out of [livejournal.com profile] ellefurtle by switching on the bedside lamp to find the paracetamol as it had fallen from the bedside table into the deep gloom below as yet un-illuminated by the dawn. Despite the accusing look I got (followed by further snores), the tablets and a glass of squash did the trick and the headache disappeared, so I was able to snatch another three hours or so sleep before the alarm.

But I really did not want to get up at that point.

The annoying thing, see, is that I deliberately made sure that I was out of bed before 10.30 yesterday morning, that being about the maximum lie in I can safely have on a Sunday commensurate with any sleep at all on Sunday night. I may as well have lolled around until midday for all the good it did.

I wonder if this is all to do with the sudden influx of vitamins into my system. Thursday and Friday both saw me eating salads for my main meal. Saturday was a salad sandwich with a bit of chicken and yesterday was a baked potato with coleslaw and grated cheese. Mind you, I did rather overdo it with the grated cheese, [livejournal.com profile] ellefurtle had a reasonable helping thereof, but I had An unreasonably large helping (sometimes you just have to tell yourself to stop grating, already!). It was very tasty, though.

Now I come to think of it, that amount of cheese may well have contributed to my disturbed sleep, though we finished eating by about 9.30, so it would be a bit of a stretch...

Annoyingly, in the dream stakes I find myself able to remember the beginning and end of the dream, but not the middle bit. I am lucky, I guess, to remember even that much; my (sleeping) nights are usually just dreamless voids which disappear in the blink of an eye. At the beginning, I was in a dark bar or club with some (unidentified) friends when I recognised (of all people) Angel (David Boreanaz) looking somewhat perturbed. This led to a request for help, a rather film-noire episode in a dilapidated hotel in which unidentified friends and I escaped by the skin of our teeth (from what I don’t know). One of us having mislaid his jacket and me having lost my mobile phone. At some point the friends thinned out in n umber until it was suddenly [livejournal.com profile] romney, [livejournal.com profile] colonel_maxim and me trying to get a night bus home from an unidentified part of central London. We missed the bus and ended up taking a [livejournal.com profile] colonel_maxim short cut, which led to me waking up with a headache just about the time the three of us were strung out along a dark country road arguing about whether to go back or to continue. I think my brain rebelled after one non-sequitur too many.

Waking up before finding out what it’s all about. That could be a parable of my life.

Early night...

Saturday, July 8th, 2006 10:58 pm
caddyman: (Default)
Wow. I feel drained, absolutely whacked. As I start typing, it is not quite 11pm on Saturday evening and I am showered and ready for bed. Salad again, tonight - well a salad sandwich... I would say I'm not getting enough carbs to keep my energy levels up, but that would be to ignore the cheese on toast at lunch time and the Häagen Dazs praline and cream ice cream (plus a mouthful or two of [livejournal.com profile] ellefurtle's strawberry cheesecake ice cream) I scoffed after the salad sandwich...

Had the joint money, energy and time levels been better, we would now have been in Birmingham for the Saturday night section of [livejournal.com profile] pax_draconis's birthday celebrations, but it was not to be. I hope it went (goes) well, but not this year. At this precise moment I can feel each and every second of my 47 years and I may be channeling someone else's age, too. I have done a great deal of additional sleeping this past week and still I'm tired. Around 8pm every night it just feels as though someone has hit me with a truck and all my energy drains away.

Ironically, my mood continues to canter along at luxuriously high levels, it's merely the bone and sinew that's giving me grief, and that's more of the quietly rusting variety than anything painful or direct. I think maybe I need the holiday I can't afford. Still, life isn't bad over all.

I'm going to bed now. Update tomorrow, I think, when I am properly awake and my eyes aren't smarting.

Early night...

Saturday, July 8th, 2006 10:58 pm
caddyman: (Default)
Wow. I feel drained, absolutely whacked. As I start typing, it is not quite 11pm on Saturday evening and I am showered and ready for bed. Salad again, tonight - well a salad sandwich... I would say I'm not getting enough carbs to keep my energy levels up, but that would be to ignore the cheese on toast at lunch time and the Häagen Dazs praline and cream ice cream (plus a mouthful or two of [livejournal.com profile] ellefurtle's strawberry cheesecake ice cream) I scoffed after the salad sandwich...

Had the joint money, energy and time levels been better, we would now have been in Birmingham for the Saturday night section of [livejournal.com profile] pax_draconis's birthday celebrations, but it was not to be. I hope it went (goes) well, but not this year. At this precise moment I can feel each and every second of my 47 years and I may be channeling someone else's age, too. I have done a great deal of additional sleeping this past week and still I'm tired. Around 8pm every night it just feels as though someone has hit me with a truck and all my energy drains away.

Ironically, my mood continues to canter along at luxuriously high levels, it's merely the bone and sinew that's giving me grief, and that's more of the quietly rusting variety than anything painful or direct. I think maybe I need the holiday I can't afford. Still, life isn't bad over all.

I'm going to bed now. Update tomorrow, I think, when I am properly awake and my eyes aren't smarting.

(no subject)

Wednesday, July 5th, 2006 10:07 pm
caddyman: (Severe Delays)
Tired, tired, tired.

Just to complete my day, the Northern Line was as screwed as I've ever known it due to a power failure at Colliers Wood. Why they couldn't operate the service stopping short of there, given it's right down the end of the line is beyond me. I left the office at 18.20 and was at Euston by 18.45. I was still at Euston at 19.30, and finally left Camden Town about 19.50.

Quite why they feel the need to route dozens of half-empty trains to Edgeware whilst closing access to overcrowded High Barnet platforms is beyond me.

The perfect end to the perfect day.

Sunday night it is the Azzurri against Les Bleus in the World Cup Final. At the risk of damning them, I fancy the Italians to shade the French, but what do I know?

God, I'm tired.

(no subject)

Wednesday, July 5th, 2006 10:07 pm
caddyman: (Severe Delays)
Tired, tired, tired.

Just to complete my day, the Northern Line was as screwed as I've ever known it due to a power failure at Colliers Wood. Why they couldn't operate the service stopping short of there, given it's right down the end of the line is beyond me. I left the office at 18.20 and was at Euston by 18.45. I was still at Euston at 19.30, and finally left Camden Town about 19.50.

Quite why they feel the need to route dozens of half-empty trains to Edgeware whilst closing access to overcrowded High Barnet platforms is beyond me.

The perfect end to the perfect day.

Sunday night it is the Azzurri against Les Bleus in the World Cup Final. At the risk of damning them, I fancy the Italians to shade the French, but what do I know?

God, I'm tired.

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