Aah September. Kids back at school, everywhere feeling a bit more autumnal (Tel's stopped wearing his shorts), the skies more Constable than Cezanne, the leaves burnishing to a fiery red, soon to drop and scuttle in the wind. I love this time of year.
My week off from work ended with a trip to London on Friday to see The Museum of London and wonder at the artefacts and be grateful that it wasn't overrun with little kids. If you've not been, you should. All human life is here, from the jawbones of mammoths to the miniskirt (and the feeble old dear and the screaming child). I would've stayed up for the QPR game (in fact, that was the intention and I had tickets sorted and everything) but things rarely happen to order, as it were.
Following Monday's pub night with Terry, watching the local middle-aged women on a session and trying to get enthused about the national team, the rest of the week was spent gladly. I've been for a few walks (and woken with sore back and stiff calves, sadly the only thing that does get stiff in my bed these days) and have met friends for lunch and drinks and gossip about the misfortunes of shared acquaintances. I've seen the ex for a chat about the possibility of her moving to New Zealand with a friend, and if I thought she should or not (I sat on the fence and merely said "Yes").
Then Friday came, I'd pre-ordered cheap tickets to London on Trainline and had arranged to stay with Neil and his fiancée (things have moved on since he last appeared in these pages, the marriage is happening in Harpenden on the first Saturday of the World Cup next June; he's hoping England'll draw Russia's group and be involved that day). It's Harpenden because that's where she grew up, pre-parental divorce.
I'd planned a day in London, lugging a backpack filled with overnight clothing and toothbrush/deodorant, on the Friday as Neil and I promised each other a couple of nights out to celebrate his engagement. I fancied a quiet day of museums and second-hand bookshops, a bit of a stroll, nothing too taxing. We were meeting at an Italian restaurant behind Liverpool Street at 6, him fresh from work, me still on hols and in my best jeans. The place was called Piccolinos in Exchange Square. Jolly nice it was.
We sank several in various bars, then meandered back to Neil's place via late-night curry rolls in Brick Lane. I awoke on Saturday morning laid on his inflatable bed, a cup of tea and a bacon bap from the café across the road at my side, Neil grinning because we'd made it up at 9am, despite not going to bed until 4. Regular readers may recall the debacle of Brentford away last season, when I woke at one thirty pm. The punitive hangover melted away after the bap. It might have been a mistake to eat it clothed; one bite drenched my chin and upper torso in oozing egg yolk.
Then, just as we were debating the best pub to doze in over decent pints of ale, Neil had a phone call which changed our plans and, ultimately, saw me simply head home. His dad's been rushed to hospital. Dunno why. I left messages on his answerphone from the train, and from home, but not had a reply yet. Hope he's OK. He's not answering at the moment. Sounds bad.
I didn't have a ticket for QPR, and from the sounds of it, I'm glad. I probably wouldn't have bothered had everything gone to plan. It probably makes me a lesser supporter, but who cares? Got back at 12, went to see Terry for the papers. "Yer late int'yer?" he said, "'Ad a bird in the'ouse larst night?". No. "Oh" (disappointed), "still, yer better orf not, believe me". I've still got three full packets of fags left from his holiday 200, so my paper and pint of milk were covered by the multitude of loose change in my pocket. We'd done our bets for the weekend on Thursday (a £48.70 win!) so we had little to do or say to each other. I was still trying to get hold of Neil. I didn't say anything to Tel about what had happened. He'd have probably tried cheering me up.
So home I went, and then later, went for a walk and got soaked. Then had a lonely pint in my local, watching the footy results come in, groaned as I saw we'd scored in the 89th minute but couldn't get an equaliser, came home, tried Neil again (mobile went straight to answerphone) and ate poached eggs on toast with baked beans and drank tea. A whimpery end to an otherwise good week off.
It's gardening today. Clearing up those leaves. Bloody autumn......
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