Drizzle and Dinner

So yesterday the post-show blues set in. Work wasn’t especially heavy-going, but I was so glad to get away and spend some quiet time on my own. I ended up spending the evening eating pizza, watching TV, reading blogs and missing Brett (who is back in Sweden until the weekend.)

Today at work was much the same, although somewhat more productive. However I managed to mess up the plans for the evening when I forgot it was Wednesday and let myself get involved in a discussion about backup technologies at work. As a result, I was just getting ready to leave for home at six o’clock (which was the time I’d said I would meet Ping for a trip to the cinema) when Ping rang to ask where I was.

I rode my bike to Waterloo intending to hop on a train home and thus shorten my journey, only to hear that trains weren’t calling at Wimbledon because of some kind of incident, consequently I had to cycle all the way home. Stockwell Road was cordoned off, presumably on some terrorist-related business, as there were lots of policeman taking statements from bystanders. It was causing traffic to back up along the A3 which delayed me even more. Anyway, I finally made it home through the heavy drizzle, soaked through and covered in road grime.

In the end we decided to skip the cinema (We’d been planning on seeing Madagascar, but Barry at work advised me it wasn’t worth the effort) and we headed up to The Light House restaurant on the edge of Wimbledon Village. We had a very pleasant dinner, although the entrees were rather average, and good conversation.

I managed to surprise Ping again with talk of my past. He describes me as a rock, because I am typically very calm, thoughtful and stable and I think he doesn’t always realise that these are qualities gained of, sometimes hard, past experience. He didn’t know me when I was a young tour manager hopping around the world with groups of fifty-somethings, discovering that the rest of the world was immensely different from what I knew at home. He never saw me enjoying all that the bars of Old Benidorm have to offer. He never saw me as an emotional wreck when someone I trusted and thought highly of betrayed me.

…I’m not entirely sure where this thread is going, which is probably not a good idea.

I’m too tired, so I’m going to quit now and leave you hanging, wondering what other titbits I might have in my past to surprise my friends with…