Weekender..

Friday into Saturday and then once more to Sunday.

My weekend begins with the clock radio alarm going off as I did not reset it last night (6.30am) - erm or should that be early this morning. It makes up for the thing not going off on Monday morning. I faintly recall a chap at Moregate asking me the taxi situation at Moorden. I suggested it was not good. My experience has always been that I end up walked back from Moorden as taxis and buses seem to always disappear when needed. The chap needed a cap to take him to Maidstone. I smiled and said I was a Kent girl. Then recommended trying to find transport at London Bridge as opposed to the SW side of deepest darkest London. He seemed grateful. All it proved to me was I was less drunk than I thought. I also know that the wait at Moregate for a tube was 15 minutes. I assumed I rattled into the flat just after 1am. Beer. Chat. Jealousy. Oh and Jeremy Bowen.

My head and memory coming too I venture swiftly to the kitchen for OJ and tabs. Once taken I return to my warm and secure bed. I sleep soundly until 9am. I have to get up at some point. I have too. Football beckons but John Kettley keeps saying how cold it is outside. A raw and biting wind. The sun has hidden away too. It was a full moon last night - that I do remember. And reading an Evening Standard and having a chap decide to sit either side of me on the tube even though the rest of the carriage was sparsely filled. I had waited for the train a minute behind the 15 min wait and presto got a seat. But that was in the past. Now I need to get up!

As I hit the bathroom to refresh and revive my weary bones and greyed skin my mobile rings. I ignore it. 9.30am? Not recognising the number I assume its a wrong one. Or worse somebody checking my number out as its been found in the wrong place. 01883 is a Caterham code. I am none the wiser.

So shower and scrub. Jeans and six layers of clothing later am ready for a proper scrambled egg on toast breakfast and the mighty Fighting Talk. I laugh as Colin Murray and the crew debate the important sporting questions of the week. As noon approaches I consider more layers and do my flat safety checks before leaving. It is colder outside than John Kettley led me to believe. Renew Oyster. Head for the farthest south end of the platform. Take pic of empty tube carriage and the Misery Line's newly upholstered colours. Change at Stickwheel for Victorious Line. Victoria Station. Madness. Tourists. Arsenal fans. Tourists. I manage to get ticket and jump on the 1.03. I am joined by turbo mobile phone user who also has a runny nose and sniffs constantly. I check to make sure she is not actually in pain/upset. Tickets checked. I fall asleep. Until Chatham. Alight at Gillingham and walk the least like Balmoral Road to the ground and beyond to meet Pops. I have never had to dodge quite so many vomit circles or massive dog turds as I do this afternoon. Just what the greyed gilled hungover fan needs.

Football. See Match Report!

Slow train back to London becomes a challenge to get all the other occupants to shut their windows. The carriage is freezing. I shut mine and the next one along. The two Leeds (!?) fans in the opposite seats alight at Chatham so I close that window. The Monkey Hanger fans in the seats diagonally opposite are so busy drinking Strongbow and Fosters they do not notice until Longfield. TOO LATE! So with hat and scarf still on I again plug into PJ. Several well to do couples get on - their monthly outing to the big smoke. As we draw into Vic I get several curious chaps asking me the score and the attendance. I smile (ish!) and say we won and refrain from saying there would have been more if you had been there too. My feet still haven't thawed out and I am getting quite impatient with life again. On to the Victorious Line - to strange looks and judging glances. Unfazed I relish that at least the carriage is WARM!!

Stickwell and sarf bound to home. Falafels, spuds and greens for tea. TV? Erm Casualty. The Tudors - sort of. I would say bed but I was busy PJ lyric hunting for posting here. When I finally go to bed - juts after midnight my friendly upstairs Mr Noisy Neighbour is talking to his colleague and I am sure they are doing DIY. Building a cabinet I mean. But the time it is 1.30 I have had enough and bang the ceiling furiously and yell a lot. First sign of madness? Bah. Don't care. Want sleep. At 2.15am he and 'friend' leave. I finally drop off.

8.30am brother rings. putting an offer in on a gorgeous house and planning the spending of first new job wage packet well in advance of its arrival. Christmas is mentioned. I have little to say and the conversation dries up. I am half asleep and sober - he is on the vino blanc and excited.

The Archers follows. Bit bland this morning. Brats b-d party. Kathy in a stew with any one who comes near. Emma ruing rejecting Ed and Clarrie & Eddie discussing turkey's and you guessed it the rather poor state of English football. I text Sparky to say hello. I still await a response. At least now I know what we need a break meant (break up not get yer passport we're going for a break.) I dress, hang out washing and go for a walk. The sun is out and its no where near as biting as yesterday. Bracing yes but once I get my pace on its very pleasant. Wombledon is as ever. I am sure if they could implement a dress code I would not be allowed in.

Tesco's for spinach so I can create my lasagne special. The guy on the counter tells his side kick to serve a customer and then carries on talking to her whilst 'serving' me. I mutter have a nice day as I leave. Takes him aback meanwhile a humble shelf stakcer in a bigger mood than me walks into me. Sullen. Costcutter for large envelope to send stuff to Oz. Again anyone would think I had handed over a turd when I paid for my goods. Have a good day yourself I curse as I leave that shop. I begin to suspect I am now getting the reputation as the batty woman who walks very fast and wears a Gills hat all the time.

Home. Peace and sunshine. West Ham v Spurs on radio. Sewing chores. Hoovering. And then my decadent Sunday treat - showering at 2 in the afternoon. Bliss! Means I can take my time. Scrub polish tidy hair and generally make myself feel tempting. I blow a kiss in the mirror and set about cleaning the shower - easier without clothes on I find.

Lasagne in oven. Sit back and relax for afternoon. Come Dine with Me - tad dull this week. Read Observer. Much more enlightening. Eat lasagne. Mazza rings. I am less communicative than usual. Lack of human contact makes me very introvert. Strictly Come Dancing. Completion of half finished Blog entries and then I guess - Cranford? Bed and oh dearie me Monday - so soon?