Tuesday, 13 July 2010
I'm leaving Blogger after many happy years here.
Please follow me to my new Lilypad and continue to laugh at my stupidity and ridiculous stories. Do I make them up?
I couldn't possibly.
True life is funnier than fiction
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Last week I got a train to London to meet up with John Lewis for their Christmas Showcase, it was fantastic.
The journey started off well, I jumped into my nice car and glided along the roads...lovely sunny morning I thought,land of 'All Things Bright & Beautiful' I'll not go down the dual carriageway to the train station, I'll take the scenic route.
I drove past the 'Purple Headed Mountain'.
Of course the scenic route out here is free of any other vehicles but once I got closer to Newport (shudder) I remembered why I like working from home.
The queues were enormous and I started to panic I'd miss my train.
Luck was on my side (along with the advantages of driving a V6 and having done a spot of motor racing in my youth) and I caught the train, found a quiet seat and snoozed and dribbled most of the way to London.
I was woken by occasional text messages from the teenager and phone calls from Darling Husband asking me where the girls pants were and if it's really necessary for socks to match these days.
John Lewis were fabulous hosts and their Christmas range is something to behold.
We had a fabulous lunch and I saw my lovely friend Potty Mummy (she's moved to Russia to avoid me - she says I can't take a hint).
If you look carefully at her photo above you'll see the white flecks are not dandruff but in fact fake snow being blown across the doorway to try and make it feel Christmassy even though it was hotter than the Gobi desert on the streets of London that day.
I got on the train to come back to Wales, my whole Christmas Shopping planned (well my list anyway)in my mind.
I suddenly was aware someone was snoring really loudly and as I listened more intently it dawned on me that it was me making that racket, and the poor young lady next to me was probably a bit fed up with it.
We went through a tunnel, which I assumed was the Severn Tunnel, so I straightened up, put my suit jacket on and made to leave.
'Are you getting off here?' asked the polite young lady (who was either deaf or v.patient)
'Yes, this is Newport isn't it?'
'Er no....we're just coming in to Bristol, Newport would be the other side of the water'
'Oh, yes..thanks for pointing that out'
So another day managing to make a fool of myself.
As I stepped from the train I discreetly checked my skirt wasn't tucked into my knickers (just in case).