Last Night Was...

...very strange. We walked down the stairs of the office we last worked in almost two years ago as if we were leaving from a day at work. (We'd just left Looby Loo with M before heading to the station, half a block away from said office.) It felt no different. We felt no different. We didn't actually decide to drop a match in the stairwell--since ouir S.O. and offspring were on the premises (note: due to the survivalist nature of the back pack we did have the matches on us!).
...hayfever on the train.
...the South Bank still being haunted.
...the QEH for the first time. Ooh, non-tipping seats and leg room. Oh, and steps that go shallow and too short, shallow and too short, shallow and twice the length of the previous steps, shallow and too short... for a long way down.
...sitting at one end of an empty block of seats wondering if everyone else thought I'd been stood up by the entire party (I'd bought a single ticket and was there on my own! (or is that even sadder than being stood up?))
...Clive James singing. Rather well.
...Pete Atkin getting out his National Steel. It sang.
...a superb concert, both the words and the music.
...the new Hungerford bridge in the dark in the slight, gentle rain.
...nearly getting home before anyone asked us directions. Why us? We deliberately misdirect 25% of the time (and don't explain this to our victims).