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...is where the cat is.

H has come home for the weekend. She got a cheap Eurostar deal - part of the trade-off was not knowing what time she would arrive. Luckily I was on strike (a new experience) and so could pick her up any time. Apart from lunchtime when the work football game was NOT part of my industrial inaction. Luckily again, Mum was around to pick her up. And take her to lunch and to buy her some charity-shop clothes. When I got back, I took H to a local antiquey-junky place which was quite good. In the evening, the three of us, together with a Mum, had a late meal at the new Turkish restaurant. Good. Despite the mix up in my order in which “salmon” was heard as “same” and I got a repeat of mum’s lamb. They did offer to let me eat the lamb while they cooked my salmon!

It’s been strange in the run-up to the strike. I think that part of the idea is not to say whether you will be in or out - so as to maximise the uncertainty. But I don’t like to let people down. So, when things were being planned, I would be saying things like “of course, some people may not be around”. This didn’t seem to sink in so I ended up saying that I wouldn’t be here.

I did check my emails - for football purposes - and had to prevent myself from replying to an email that said “in Nick’s absents”...