My bacon is saved, your bacon is saved
This morning's epiphany came at a cost.
The time flew while I blogged and I was late to work. A meeting I had thought was at 10am had started at 9am without me. Rushing to this meeting, I recalled that it clashed with a Doctor's appointment. Deciding that because I'd gotten the time of the first meeting wrong I must also be mistaken about the clash, I consoled myself that I wouldn't have to leave early to get to the Medical Centre. Nope. When I got back to my desk and checked the diary I found I'd missed the Doctor's appointment. My healthcare insurance doesn't pay up for missed appointments - ouch.
Let that be a lesson to you children: too much chemotherapy makes you feeble minded. Just say no to drugs.
Cue dark mood. Walking through the bleak, grey and freezing London afternoon, I pondered what to do with the rest of my day. On deciding to blog my idiocy I was surprised to discover that the thought alone had been enough to blow away the blues.
So here I am, busily blogging, feeling chirpy, warm and cosy in Wagamama, my belly full with Yasai Katsu Curry (Harry to Waitress: extra sauce with that please.)
You are redeemed Blog. My bacon is saved, your bacon is saved.
Two black limos have stopped outside each sporting a Silver Lady. A bevvy of silver haired folk bedecked in black have disembarked and entered the Anchor pub opposite. Good people of Southwark no doubt, attending a wake.
Rendered 'Suv awk' in London patois, the area has a bit of a buzz about it now. Perhaps this is due to the Shakespeare Globe, Bankside Tate Modern, and the Millennium Bridge. A bunch of reasonable restaurants have opened and help corral the tourists here, while their pockets are drained for the good of the local economy.
The Millennium Bridge was infamous when it first opened for bouncing around as people walked across it. Fearing another Tacoma Narrows Collapse they fixed it, depriving us all of a free thrill (which is a rather rare beastie in London.)
Tacoma Narrows Newsreel
For me Southwark is a way point between the office and London Bridge train station, where my sardine carriage awaits. The temptation is to linger, delay the inevitable rush & crush that is London's overland train network. It might be bad, but I know it will be quieter now than later. Time to gird those loins.
The term "gird your loins" was used in the Roman Era meaning to pull up and tie your lower garments between your legs to increase your mobility in battle. In the modern age, it has become an idiom meaning to prepare yourself for the worst.
All hail the conquering Internet. Glory be to Wikipedia.
The time flew while I blogged and I was late to work. A meeting I had thought was at 10am had started at 9am without me. Rushing to this meeting, I recalled that it clashed with a Doctor's appointment. Deciding that because I'd gotten the time of the first meeting wrong I must also be mistaken about the clash, I consoled myself that I wouldn't have to leave early to get to the Medical Centre. Nope. When I got back to my desk and checked the diary I found I'd missed the Doctor's appointment. My healthcare insurance doesn't pay up for missed appointments - ouch.
Let that be a lesson to you children: too much chemotherapy makes you feeble minded. Just say no to drugs.
Cue dark mood. Walking through the bleak, grey and freezing London afternoon, I pondered what to do with the rest of my day. On deciding to blog my idiocy I was surprised to discover that the thought alone had been enough to blow away the blues.
So here I am, busily blogging, feeling chirpy, warm and cosy in Wagamama, my belly full with Yasai Katsu Curry (Harry to Waitress: extra sauce with that please.)
You are redeemed Blog. My bacon is saved, your bacon is saved.
Two black limos have stopped outside each sporting a Silver Lady. A bevvy of silver haired folk bedecked in black have disembarked and entered the Anchor pub opposite. Good people of Southwark no doubt, attending a wake.
Rendered 'Suv awk' in London patois, the area has a bit of a buzz about it now. Perhaps this is due to the Shakespeare Globe, Bankside Tate Modern, and the Millennium Bridge. A bunch of reasonable restaurants have opened and help corral the tourists here, while their pockets are drained for the good of the local economy.
The Millennium Bridge was infamous when it first opened for bouncing around as people walked across it. Fearing another Tacoma Narrows Collapse they fixed it, depriving us all of a free thrill (which is a rather rare beastie in London.)
Tacoma Narrows Newsreel
For me Southwark is a way point between the office and London Bridge train station, where my sardine carriage awaits. The temptation is to linger, delay the inevitable rush & crush that is London's overland train network. It might be bad, but I know it will be quieter now than later. Time to gird those loins.
The term "gird your loins" was used in the Roman Era meaning to pull up and tie your lower garments between your legs to increase your mobility in battle. In the modern age, it has become an idiom meaning to prepare yourself for the worst.
All hail the conquering Internet. Glory be to Wikipedia.
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