Not a bad day in all, but I didn’t make it to the gym this morning. Like a lot of people in the office I had difficulty sleeping last night for some reason, perhaps the weather, and lay in bed staring up at the time my clock projects on the ceiling watching the minutes tick by. The alarm had been going 58 minutes by the time it woke me enough to get me out of bed. Skipping the gym meant I was still the second in the office, though, and I was able to get on with a pile of email that’s been waiting unread.

I didn’t make it on the way home, either, though. Andrew had cut Paul some new shelves for the kitchen, so after one of the fastest journeys home in weeks I went round to deliver them and stopped for dinner.

In light of the speedy journey, I sent Great Eastern an email asking them why the driver apologised for us being “delayed” because of an Anglia train sitting in the platform we normally use. The indicator boards showed us as arriving on time, so I want to know if we really were late (and going by the platform clock we were within two minutes of the advertised time) in which case this will count against them on their statistics, or if this will be classed as on time, in which case I have suggested they announce a correction on the next 1918 train.

Seems only fair. You have to do it in print and on the radio, after all, so why not on an intercom?

I got a reply almost right away, which I assume was from an autoresponder, but every time I try and open it Outlook crashes and needs to be restarted. I can’t even forward it to another account.

Hmmm…

Watched the first of the new Delia Smith series over dinner but was forced to keep turning away as she was wiping olive oil into a big lump of steak, and then again when she cut it and squeezed the blood out after it had been cut. The rest of the time I kept on distracting myself by looking at the trees through the big window behind her. They couldn’t quite decide whether it was summer or autumn. In some scenes the branches were bare, and beneath them were tidy scatterings of crispy brown leaves. Then, in the next recipe they would be green and back on the branches, and the lawn would be clear.

The longer it is since I last ate meat the more squeaming I’m getting about it. I don’t think I could ever go back to eating it, no matter how good it sometimes smells.

She is very white. I wonder if she powders her face.

1. Being late
   After the fatal crash in Potters Bar last weekend I feel a bit bad complaining about the trains, but I had travel hell this morning....
   
   
2. Late
   Somehow I got to bed well after midnight last night. I don't know where the time went. Sorting out those bills, I think, so I...
   
   
3. Late, in every sense
   Was running so so so late this morning. Something to do with not sleeping last night and then resetting the alarm some time around 2am....