Yesterday, well...I'm putting that down to a bad case of the 21st century. No cure, apparently, only time.
Today I will have the very great pleasure of rolling down to the lush and verdant bars-sorry hills of Hampshire, to meet, greet and generally socialise with Messrs George and Foster, a.k.a. Greenhamster and Supersonicboyuk.
We will be rocking fat ones left, right, centre, up and down, and painting Southampton whatever colour they have available and is relatively cheap.
Hopefully red.
As a bit of a plus, I am going by train, and there has always been something about train journeys that cheers me up.
Granted, the timetabled services may be terrible, the fag burns on the horrific blue and orange seat covers might be crusty and black, and the trains might simply stop in the middle of nowhere for up to an hour for no apparent reason.
But I love train journeys, even in this country. Waterloo is a craphole, but it is a magnificently thronging craphole, and the atmosphere is always amazing.
Train stations have that air of magic for me; busy, hectic, urgent and even desperate at times, the edge of travel and excitement to be off to somewhere new, somewhere different.
How can travel be anything but an act of hope?
All those hopeful, active, moving people...a busy train station is a great awning space of hope, and the joy of arrival and meeting.
It's just a shame that I always seem to be running through them.
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