It's not hard. How about the Tatsfield Bus Stop, the slow way? You're right, but it could have been so different. It could have been an abort text. In fact, it was an abort text. I woke up at 0600hrs and when I peered out of the window at the small puddle that always forms on next door's flat-roofed extension, I noticed it was being disturbed by rain. "Abort". I wasted no time in sending it off, but immediately regretted it. Perhaps I should leave it until later, things might calm down, so I sent another text along the lines of seeing how things develop. And when Andy texted back saying he was going for it, I said okay, meet at the usual place, usual time.
When I got outside, it wasn't cold, but the skies were grey and there were spits of rain here and there. Sure, it could get worse, but I rode up Church Way, slightly sluggishly it has to be said, and got used to the fact that there was no sunshine and only cloud and the odd spit of rain. In short it was fine and I was so glad that I didn't act on my initial rather impulsive abort text.
Andy later said that when he left the house he could hear the rain hitting his conservatory roof but decided to go for it anyway.
We decided to ride the slow way to the bus stop during which time we touched upon politics again, but not as vociferously as last week. Andy had caught an interview with Lib-Dem leadership hopeful Jo Swinson and wasn't impressed. He said she spouted a kind of student politics and I knew exactly what he meant and could we really have somebody like that as our next PM? It's all starting to look a little desperate. Nobody wants the Conservatives, but the alternatives are so poor that it looks as if we'll get them or, perhaps, the Brexit Party, an awful one-trick pony political party headed by the equally awful Nigel Farage who would probably sell the NHS to Donald Trump given half the chance.
Talking of Trump, he was in town last week visiting the Queen on a State Visit. London Mayor Khan and leader of the opposition Corbyn made arses of themselves by protesting too much, Khan being lambasted by a presidential tweet sent from Airforce One. There were a few protests, but not as many as were expected (whatever happened to the days of Class War and paint thrown on Royal vehicles - these days it's just milkshakes).
Markle made herself scarce, emerging only yesterday (I'm writing this text on Sunday morning) to be a part of some kind of birthday parade for the Queen.
Both Andy and I had uneventful weeks and when we reached the bus stop, having witnessed a watery sun trying to break through fast-moving grey cloud, we sat there in front of the long grass drinking tea and watching the world go by. I wondered when the council would get round to cutting the long grass in front of us, while hoping that they might simply leave it grow so that our bus stop was obscured from view. But, as Andy pointed out, the grasses had grown to about two feet in height and had already seeded so it was unlikely. Teabags flicked from teaspoons, we headed home, Andy taking The Ridge and me risking the 269. I reached home around 0930hrs and then drove to Petworth in West Sussex for beef and horseradish sandwiches and a slice of coffee and walnut cake, which happened to be the deli's Cake of the Day.
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| How boring is this image? My view sitting on the bench at the bus stop |
Andy later said that when he left the house he could hear the rain hitting his conservatory roof but decided to go for it anyway.
We decided to ride the slow way to the bus stop during which time we touched upon politics again, but not as vociferously as last week. Andy had caught an interview with Lib-Dem leadership hopeful Jo Swinson and wasn't impressed. He said she spouted a kind of student politics and I knew exactly what he meant and could we really have somebody like that as our next PM? It's all starting to look a little desperate. Nobody wants the Conservatives, but the alternatives are so poor that it looks as if we'll get them or, perhaps, the Brexit Party, an awful one-trick pony political party headed by the equally awful Nigel Farage who would probably sell the NHS to Donald Trump given half the chance.
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| ...and this ain't much better |
Talking of Trump, he was in town last week visiting the Queen on a State Visit. London Mayor Khan and leader of the opposition Corbyn made arses of themselves by protesting too much, Khan being lambasted by a presidential tweet sent from Airforce One. There were a few protests, but not as many as were expected (whatever happened to the days of Class War and paint thrown on Royal vehicles - these days it's just milkshakes).
Markle made herself scarce, emerging only yesterday (I'm writing this text on Sunday morning) to be a part of some kind of birthday parade for the Queen.
Both Andy and I had uneventful weeks and when we reached the bus stop, having witnessed a watery sun trying to break through fast-moving grey cloud, we sat there in front of the long grass drinking tea and watching the world go by. I wondered when the council would get round to cutting the long grass in front of us, while hoping that they might simply leave it grow so that our bus stop was obscured from view. But, as Andy pointed out, the grasses had grown to about two feet in height and had already seeded so it was unlikely. Teabags flicked from teaspoons, we headed home, Andy taking The Ridge and me risking the 269. I reached home around 0930hrs and then drove to Petworth in West Sussex for beef and horseradish sandwiches and a slice of coffee and walnut cake, which happened to be the deli's Cake of the Day.
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