Trading places

As I sip my disappointing Starbucks hot chocolate, there’s a quiet hum around Euston.

It’s like the calm before the rush hour storm. I really don’t miss commuting and can’t believe I once did it every day for three and a half years.

I was up early after a terrible night’s sleep only to arrive at the station to find that my train had been cancelled. This meant a bit of a delay and swap over at a freezingly cold Crew train station before onward transmission to London an hour late. It did give me a little time to dive into my lines though.

Fortunately, the person I was supposed to meet was both understanding and flexible, so by the time I rolled into town (having made a quick stop to play tourist) he was prepped and we got down to business, which finished up with a delicious fish n chips lunch with accompanying pint in The George on The Strand (opposite The Royal Court of Justice) before I headed back to Euston from where I wrote the majority of this blip.

The journey home was much less eventful (aside from two young mothers openly shouting and swearing at each other: that was weird and rather unpleasant) and aided by the fact that I had my nose in a book for most of it - The Trading Game by Gary Stevenson.

Once home it was a quick turnaround for another frenetic, but enjoyable 45 minutes of five a-side and then home once more to shower up and collapse in front of West Ham turning over a lacklustre Leicester.

Belting day and I caught myself feeling somewhat tired, yet happy this evening.

What is the deal?!