It Begins

Very hot day, a few more clouds today. The London Transport Network crumbled, seemingly with my weight, as I trod platforms and escalators, waiting for trains that were never to come. First Capital Connect are nobheads, Gavin proved it recounting a question that had been posed in the House of Commons yesterday asking if the governement's descion to give the Thameslink and WAGN services to a company who's business model was transporting fewer people for bigger profits was really such a good one. All this an aside. We arrived fairly tired, abruptly too - at least it seemed to me. It turns out we would all like some space to be ourselves, no surprise you might think, yet my own admission of such had me pretty confused. We talked about what we will do this week, planned, usually such activities turn out to be quite fun but a meal awaited our conclusion and I for one was very hungry. The Indian Ocean, a restraunt of the Asian persuasian, was the best I've been to in the south of our green and pleasant land. We had decided to feast, and this we did with conversation and a pint or four and a half of Kingfisher, fruit juice for three of the four girls and a pint of cola for Mark who is driving back to Cambridge tonight, carrying on a lifestyle Jed Bartlet would wince at the prospect of. Liz accompanies him having committed to finishing packing her room, that when her Dad arrives at 1.30 tomorrow she will be ready to leave, an exception to the rule apparently. She along with Gavin and Fiona move into their house in Luton tomorrow, Mark, Ruth and I remain unhoused - Laura training for the Nursing corp is provided with student accomodation near the station. Well, it has begun, quite what I don't know. Day one.

Bed now, tired.


Oh before we go, the night was topped by a little artistic expression, eventually pictures of pigs were drawn.

"I eat shit"? Fiona did it.