Bank Holiday tradition

As is traditional at this time of indolence and ill-temper (whether sitting slack-jawed in front of the Great Escape for the 48th time, or in a traffic-jam 19 miles out of Margate), all my grand schemes for today have folded up and died - the furthest I think I will make is Cambridge, which from here is an expedition roughly on a par with climbing to the summit of Muswell Hill. I do intend to do some walking - may go and see just how jammed Grantchester can get on a Bank Holiday weekend, for instance. There are few things funnier in life than 400,000 townies, all crammed into one tiny village, attemptingto enjoy the idyllic peace of rural life...

Anyone actually managing to follow-through on their exciting plans for making the most of the Bank Holiday?

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This morning's breakfast consisted of two slices of toast absolutely bursting with butter and honey ... and a can of Diet Coke.

Irony rocks.


[and if I do make it to Grantchester, then yes there may have to be honey for tea also...]

(no subject)

Text received from a friend of mine today:

"car broke down and got stranded for hours so only just got home. Looks like being a costly one"

This is one of the things I like about train travel. The more fucked-up and delayed your car becomes, the more you know you'll have to shell out to someone else. The more fucked-up and delayed your train becomes, the more you know someone else will have to pay you.

[Yes, know that's an incredible oversimplification, and glosses over the fetid and piranha-infested swamps of railway compensation claims, but never mind]


In other shock news, I've just broken my soap.

Of Cambridgeshire and forgotten music

For those interested in pointless travelogues:

( Cambridgeshire )

( and forgotten music )