I felt a little glum. You could tell, couldn’t you. I have taken myself in hand and booked a train ticket to London for the day – you know I said, ages ago, that I always intend to come up for minor yet highly cultural jollities, but I rarely get around to it. I have found a chink in the diary on 11th June.
What fun I will have.
I don’t know what I’ll be doing yet. I’ll probably go the Surrealism exhibition at the V&A and shudder at the disturbing fur cup and saucer, and I am sure to walk a lot. But I have no plans.
Last time I looked on the train company booking website, I found there was a fee to book online, so I didn’t and, having found the trains and prices I wanted, I phoned instead. Now it’s a new system and there’s no charge. How sensible.
That reminds me, when the Sage came back from the surgery, he said that there is a new checking-in system, with a touch-screen. First you put in whether you are male or female, then enter your date of birth. Then it tells you who you are (how useful! I always wondered) and lets the doctor or, in this case the nurse, know you’ve arrived.
You still have to watch the screen high on the wall to know when it’s your turn, though. There are no announcements. I wonder how you manage if you can’t see. Or can’t read. Or are really unobservant. None of these problems applies to the Sage, so it may be some time before I find out.