There's a storm brewing

I'm sure there's a storm coming; I can feel it.

The air is still and humid; not a hint of a breeze. It's been warm and sunny all day. Now it's just warm and humid: the sky is clouding over. I will be most surprised if we don't have a thunderstorm starting sometime in the next couple of hours. I can feel the pressure building like a dull throb behind my eyes. It almost - almost but not quite - feels as though I should be able to pop my ears to equalise the pressure.

( Potential spoilers of the Who variety )

Changing subjects entirely, don't you think it would be nice if train companies actually informed people when they changed schedules? I am congenitally incapable of catching a train on time at a weekend, but for once it worked in my favour. Having got to King's Cross just too late to catch the departing 13.04 train yesterday (they have moved it inexplicably from 13.06, not that that would have made any real difference), I was forced to read the departure boards. This, and only this, was how I knew that the train would not be stopping at Foxton, one stop before Cambridge. Otherwise I should have been standing at the door wondering why the train wasn't stopping as we sailed past. I still have no explanation...

It's coming, I swear it is; there is the first stirring of a cool breeze plucking at the curtains. No thunder or rain, yet, but it can only be a matter of time.

Luckily I was able to get a lift from Royston and didn't arrive too late in the end. Although not there, ellefurtle was suitably entertained by the news having anticipated our hero's incompetence and texted to enquire on progress.

In the event I drank quite a bit of foreign lager, which was nice. There was a barbecue and later an Indian meal courtesy Waitrose. All very entertaining, though I was left somewhat alone when tired parents and remaining guests retired at 11.30, leaving me with a cup of tea and some reading to pass the time. In the event I managed about an hour and then wandered off to bed myself, having inexplicably dozed off mid paragraph, waking to find my glasses and neck at a jaunty angle. Happily not for long enough for the dreaded crick to set in.

Arriving home this evening, I find that the gate post out back has finally given up the ghost, and some helpful soul has stacked the rubble neatly in the passageway where it can do no harm. Odd, as colonel_maxim has been in all day, and no one tried to alert him. At least the collapse didn't damage any cars parked nearby as we had feared it might. We have just drafted a letter to the landlord outlining the list of repairs that needs doing to the Athenaeum Club. The gate post is but one in a growing list, and arguably the least important. We are torn between the need to send the letter and the desire to remain silent lest the rent go up. I think we may hold off sending the letter a week or two since the lease renewal doesn't come up until the end of the month and confirmation of a further year's residence would be nice before we hassle him.

We are such bloody cowards when it comes to the lease. Neither colonel_maxim nor I wish to pack up and move - for all its faults the Athenaeum Club is a nice place to live, albeit expensive, and the area is reasonable too, complaints about the Northern Line not withstanding.

We'll see.

Right, I need to find something to entertain myself for the rest of the evening. Sunday telly is very poor these days.

There's a storm brewing

I'm sure there's a storm coming; I can feel it.

The air is still and humid; not a hint of a breeze. It's been warm and sunny all day. Now it's just warm and humid: the sky is clouding over. I will be most surprised if we don't have a thunderstorm starting sometime in the next couple of hours. I can feel the pressure building like a dull throb behind my eyes. It almost - almost but not quite - feels as though I should be able to pop my ears to equalise the pressure.

( Potential spoilers of the Who variety )

Changing subjects entirely, don't you think it would be nice if train companies actually informed people when they changed schedules? I am congenitally incapable of catching a train on time at a weekend, but for once it worked in my favour. Having got to King's Cross just too late to catch the departing 13.04 train yesterday (they have moved it inexplicably from 13.06, not that that would have made any real difference), I was forced to read the departure boards. This, and only this, was how I knew that the train would not be stopping at Foxton, one stop before Cambridge. Otherwise I should have been standing at the door wondering why the train wasn't stopping as we sailed past. I still have no explanation...

It's coming, I swear it is; there is the first stirring of a cool breeze plucking at the curtains. No thunder or rain, yet, but it can only be a matter of time.

Luckily I was able to get a lift from Royston and didn't arrive too late in the end. Although not there, ellefurtle was suitably entertained by the news having anticipated our hero's incompetence and texted to enquire on progress.

In the event I drank quite a bit of foreign lager, which was nice. There was a barbecue and later an Indian meal courtesy Waitrose. All very entertaining, though I was left somewhat alone when tired parents and remaining guests retired at 11.30, leaving me with a cup of tea and some reading to pass the time. In the event I managed about an hour and then wandered off to bed myself, having inexplicably dozed off mid paragraph, waking to find my glasses and neck at a jaunty angle. Happily not for long enough for the dreaded crick to set in.

Arriving home this evening, I find that the gate post out back has finally given up the ghost, and some helpful soul has stacked the rubble neatly in the passageway where it can do no harm. Odd, as colonel_maxim has been in all day, and no one tried to alert him. At least the collapse didn't damage any cars parked nearby as we had feared it might. We have just drafted a letter to the landlord outlining the list of repairs that needs doing to the Athenaeum Club. The gate post is but one in a growing list, and arguably the least important. We are torn between the need to send the letter and the desire to remain silent lest the rent go up. I think we may hold off sending the letter a week or two since the lease renewal doesn't come up until the end of the month and confirmation of a further year's residence would be nice before we hassle him.

We are such bloody cowards when it comes to the lease. Neither colonel_maxim nor I wish to pack up and move - for all its faults the Athenaeum Club is a nice place to live, albeit expensive, and the area is reasonable too, complaints about the Northern Line not withstanding.

We'll see.

Right, I need to find something to entertain myself for the rest of the evening. Sunday telly is very poor these days.