Level 2 Chi Kung. Microcosmic orbit.
Another day, another borrowed baby… On the way to Dashi’s school, the bus driver was again turning away people with buggies. The two available buggy spaces had obviously been taken at the first stop (I get on at the second stop) which means people in the middle of the route have no chance. Considering that the number 75 only runs every 15 minutes and one could quite easily miss out on several buses in a row, it’s no wonder people get a bit desperate. This time the desperate mummy was from Eastern Europe, and, I guess because this time the baby’s colouring matched mine a bit more, I was soon graciously accepting compliments on the baby’s physical beauty and placid nature! I was wholeheartedly agreeing with the baby’s admirers (including a policewoman), when it occurred to me that I should really point out that the child didn’t belong to me!
Baby-cuddling opportunities aside, spending 4 hours a day on public transport gets old quite fast, so I was relieved to hear from the LEA that transport via the school bus is arranged from Monday.
90 harrowing minutes spent watching Helen McCrory butcher her children in Medea. I thought McCrory was wonderful but found Danny Sapani an unconvincing, and irritatingly sweaty, Jason. He had a silk hanky in his breast pocket and I was simply willing him to pull it out and give his face a wipe down.
A disappointing meal at the usually reliable Rivington Grill – lambs sweetbreads so devilled you couldn’t taste the sweetbreads, followed by lacklustre sausages and mash, finally redeemed by a wonderful plum pie for pud.