I wrote myself a letter. That is, I started one to a colleague on Hotmail and then, because I was going to send several attachments, decided to send it on Gmail. So I sent it to myself, intending to readdress it, add the photos and send it on.
Half an hour later, still waiting, I rewrote it instead.
An hour later, it arrived.
Dirty little stop-out.
I have just ordered an Oyster card. This is, my daughter assures me, the most useful innovation to London Transport since the demise of the hansom cab. I am going to visit her and her best beloved in a week or so, and it will save buying tickets at the station and let me forget the appalling price of a Tube ride nowadays. Also, if you use it enough in a day, it kindly lets you go free, though I didn’t quite gather exactly how many trips you need to use it for first. Furthermore (yes, it gets better and better), it will automatically top itself up, using my credit card details, so I don’t have to worry about running out of credit.
This is the most exciting thing that has happened to me in four days.