My dear THG,
I sit here in my suite at the Hilton Hotel at Bankside, a short hop from The Tate Modern, contemplating whether to drop in to the gallery for an hour or so. I have a reservation on the express train to Lincoln departing Kings Cross Station at twelve oh six.
You can picture the lively station scene. A bustling platform with porters wheeling handcarts full of luggage, the noise coming from the steam engines, whooshes of steam and the warning of whistles, passengers hugging their relatives before boarding, fond farewells. Do come back and see us. Remember you need to change at Edinburgh for the Inverness train. Don’t forget your packed lunch. Send us a postcard when you get to Scarborough.
The hotel is comfortable. There is a lounge provided for the use of busy executives looking for a quiet place away from the throng in the lobby. A cup of tea sir? Don’t mind if I do. Could I have a biscuit? Yes of course. Dunk away bebe.
I have checked out and decamped to the lounge. There is more going on here. Latte not tea. No biscuits. Only four of us execs in here. One bloke on a conference call, another playing with his phone and a woman doing stuff on her laptop. High flyers one and all, I assume. International business people driving the global economy. Fair play.
My entry to the lounge is based on diamond status within the Hilton Honors programme. This is likely to be my last year at diamond. This year I will also drop off the radar on the BA Exec Club. No status anywhere. All things come to pass. I don’t pick up my pension for another five years.
There will be a four year gap/rapid decline between the end of me being a diamond geezer and queuing outside the Post Office to pick up the pension. The Carlton Estate Post office is conveniently situated next to the Coop so I will be able to pop in there to buy a few bits and bobs for supper. There is also a cafe there so I will be able to get together with other like minded individuals for a cup of tea before walking home.
Not sure I’m ready for the concept of pushing my shopping along in one of those trolley type bags you see people using. Maybe I’ll just get it delivered from Waitrose. They have a caff in Waitrose that seems to always be full of pensioners. Don’t think I’m ready for that.
The taxi driver from Bankside was called Simon. Nice enough chap apart from being an Arsenal fan 🙂 Just back from watching them lose in Portugal. Slife.
Now back in seat E2 on the 12.06. They must have just announced the platform as the train is quickly filling up. My fave seat is E5 but someone had reserved E6 next to it so I thought sod that for a game of soldiers and didn’t book it.
Some knob is allowing sounds to emanate from their device so the headphones are going on toute suite. It’s a kid. The knob is the parent. I understand the need to keep kids entertained on a journey but now I’m a curmudgeonly old fart with grown up kids my attitude has changed.
The tosser in E6 has put his bag and coat on the seats opposite to stop anyone from sitting there. He is on LinkedIn. I’m on Facebook. That’s just one of the differences between us.
If you had diamonds on the soles of your shoes you would need to be careful where you walked. Wouldn’t want to scratch the tiles after all and it could be quite slippery walking there. Depends on how many diamonds I suppose.
Hello Friday, goodbye London. The coming weekend is another sporting job. Two games of rugby on Saturday then Chelski v the Pool in the League Cup Final on Sunday. Saturday will as you know be boozy but the football will be just me and you in the shed.
I’m thinking I might prune the apple tree behind the shed on Saturday morning. Wasn’t able to get to it last year due to the pile of logs randomly scattered around the base but since I’ve tidied it up the tree is more accessible.
The train has just pulled into Grantham. I also need a haircut. These two statements are not linked. One just followed the other as it came to mind. The train actually did pull into Grantham. It will shortly be pulling out of Grantham which is a better state of affairs. I don’t know when I’ll get my hair cut. Soonish.
As I write Bob Dylan is sitting in the corner entertaining me with his geetar. Strumnming away at Mr Tambourine Man. I’m in two minds about our Bob. His early stuff is truly the work of genius. Genius poetry. His autobiography is equally good reading. On the other hand, my own personal experience of him is nothing to write home about. Worse than that actuellement. Let us just remember him for his talent.
The woman sat in D4 has been reading The Harvard Business Review – The Leadership Mindset. Gosh. I’ve never been interested.
The milkman came at three seventeen this morning.
Anyway THG. I’m looking forward to seeing you when I get home. Lotsalurve and kisses.
Tref