Fie Another Day...

Well, so much for that theory.  Mrs O and I had planned to go to the RSC in Stratford on Saturday.  That meant our getting up at the ungodly hour of 7am on a Saturday morning.  This we did only to discover that the Chiltern line, which we were slated to be travelling on, was fucked and that buses were replacing trains.  This made the journey to Warwickshire a 3-hour slog, so we demurred and declined in that order.  And to add to the misery, we couldn't shift our tickets prior to curtain up, so we lost the money and weren't able to exchange for another production.

So that blew Saturday out of the water.  I ended up mooching around the house, and then doing my usual Denmark Street thing.  For new readers, I should point out that when I can alight on something constructive to do of a weekend (so that's most of the time then) I hang around the guitar shops of Denmark Street in central London, itching to try out equipment, but too nervous to do so.  The reason for this nervousness on my part is due to the knowledge that I have no intention of buying any more expensive guitar hardware.  I'll then overcompensate furiously for the benefit of the staff, who couldn't care a tinker's cuss anyway.  I'll pull faces, ask intelligent questions and even make notes in my diary.

I need to be more brazen.  I might opt to have then chiseled into the granite of my headstone when the time comes: "Needed to be more brazen."

Let the train engender strain

It's the final day of 2014.  Tonight the missus and I head to Cornwall.  We're taking the train this year.  Usually we drive, but as we're both at work today anyways, we thought South West Trains (peace be upon it) could carry us yon.  It's always a stressful endeavour, train travel.  With all due deference to Network Rail, it goes to cock more often than it doesn't.  I can't think of the last time I took a train journey in this country when all the constituent elements worked according to a preordained plan.  I must have been an infant of sorts.  Going somewhere with my parents, I dare say.  Probably in the way to my christening.

As matters stand, the service appears to be running smoothly.  But that worries me.  It could be a trick of the fates.  To offset this concern I've raided my local Waitrose and procured wine and nibbles to Caligulian excess.  So if the shit does hit the fan in any way, at least we'll be fed and watered.  For 'watered' read 'drunk'.

Happy New Year.  Or if you're an American, happy NEW year.