Took forever to get down to Winchester yesterday to see my folks, due to the usual joys of trains. The coach from Woking came in (for some reason) at the south end of town, so I got to point out to the Doctor the carpark that was once Winchester's other train station (and the one that Sherlock Holmes used). Much discussion of the damnable Dr Beeching, which seems all the more pertinent in these apocalyptic days where petrol for cars threatens to be as much as £1 per litre.
Laughable, really, when compared to a litre of milk (84p), six large, free range eggs (99p), or a loaf of bread (91p). (Source: Sainsbury's)
Petrol Direct also made me laugh.
Anyway. Had a huge and lovely lunch and caught up on family stuff. Then to the pub with a friend while we waited for the trains we'd been promised would be working again at half four to be working again.
This morning, I saw Revolver (review should be live soon). Verdict: well, I feel especially professional for staying till the end. Which was more than some.
Went to see O afterwards, who is well enough to be bored and restless. We had soup.
My death last week has been officially announced. Now to get on with writing something that hasn't...