Coming back from Yorkshire last night we managed to navigate London after being diverted to West Hampstead, because of work being carried out around St Pancras, and arrived at Victory in time to board the 22.55 train for Shortlands. The train was packed with late night London revellers, mostly good natured, or else falling asleep. Except for one, that is. A guy who was quite worse for wear, head in his hoody, hunched over like a dormant tortoise, that is until he threw up on the carriage floor. The first I knew of it was a wash of sick that began to swill towards my feet faster than the incoming tide over Morecambe sands. Just what you want at the end of the day. Needless to say David and I legged it into the next carriage, swiftly followed by half a dozen other fleeing passengers.
Such is life! It did bring back a few memories of my younger days. But I must say, I have never been sick on a train, thank God! Sometimes I am glad my wild youth is well behind me, and I am happy to be tucked up in bed when all that throbbing night scene is taking place. I must confess, I do enjoy an afternoon pint of beer much better than an evening session.
Good luck to all you young things, whoop it up and enjoy yourselves, but do try to remember to carry a brown paper bag with you for that late train journey home.
Oh, I forgot to mention, on the train up to Yorkshire yesterday, we were sitting across from Mr Paddy Ashdown (of political fame). He looked very distinguished, lovely thick grey hair, and we exchanged pleasantries about the weather (which was ice cold) as we alighted at Sheffield.
It has been another icy cold day today, here in Beckenham, but, hey ho! it is winter.
Time for bed. Love, Jane x
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