A fabulous weekend just came straight out of nowhere.
First, Friday night. Announcements at Liverpool Street informed me that Central Line trains would not be stopping at Bank due to overcrowding. So I walked to Bank—closed due to a “reported emergency”. So I walked apace to London Bridge which was crazy-busy, but allowed me to catch my southbound Northern Line train, getting me to nursery just in time to pick up my daughter without incurring a fine.
Home for a glass of wine and a pizza, the latter shared with my daughter. And happy in discovering that she likes fruit-topped pizza—a Hawaiian on this occasion.
Saturday was rather non-eventful. My daughter and I popped into a pub to sate a toilet need, and therein, a quick scan of Twitter informed me that the International Space Station would be passing overhead in six minutes’ time—at 1708.
Coats (and proverbial skates) on, and a hurried jog to the middle of Clapham Common to see the glorious space station flying overhead. My own excitement was shared by my daughter when I informed her that there were people in there as we spoke. (Earlier in the afternoon, I’d been educating her about planetary orbits and the relation between the sun and the moon’s crescent, so it was lovely to end the day with such a fabulous astronomical event.)
And to today. Our planned trip to see relatives was put on hold as they were all ill. So I used the Streetcar that we’d hired to trundle off to Box Hill at the recommendation of Mark. I had little idea what to expect, but muddy puddles and magnificent views were enough to make my daughter and me very happy. In-car singing from us both on the way home. Pictures here for those with access. If you’d like to see, ping me an email and I’ll add you.