endanger my chances of flying at all

We successfully get up and sit at 6:30. The body, which has been refusing to get up much recently, gave no difficulty at all. Which goes to show something, probably not terribly flattering to me.

Then breakfast, final packing and (after a flurry to print out the codes for the tickets) off to Paddington.

Collect the tickets from the machine, then get coffee. The coffees together cost as much as a pack of really nice coffee from Bullet, which is interesting. I’m often reminded that, instead of coming to places like this, we should uses thermoses more. Of course, they’ve got rid of all the places to sit down that aren’t operated by food concessions, but them’s the breaks. It might be good to take a thermos of coffee when I fly, were it not for the fact that possession of a thermos would endanger my chances of flying at all.

Is it just me, or has the world gone completely insane?

Train leaves, smoothly and on time. Not too crowded. Get into Bath and take a taxi to Sara’s house, then break in and make tea.

Sara and Angharad get back. Some general hanging out and sandwich eating, then a trip to Sainsbury’s (mad but not too mad) for final supplies (wine, crisps, baguettes, that sort of thing).

Back to the flat. More hanging out, then dinner, then hanging out. Watch (thanks to the BBC iPlayer – strange that they nick the Apple idiom for the name, when they’re deliberately and explicitly Apple-unfriendly) the 1950s and the 1960s in the series about children’s programmes – these are teh programmes that were on when I was the right age for them, if you see what I mean. Bill and Ben, Andy Pandy and The Woodentops were still on Watch With Mother, but then so was Joe, which was very right-on, if I remember correctly, and seems to have been written out of Children’s TV History, partly because I expect it wasn’t as much fun as Camberwick Green (though I was four or five, so I pretty much enjoyed everything), partly because admitting its existence subverts the talking heads’ insistence that it was all Terribly Middle Class, although one talking head (an ex-producer of Blue Peter) does say, rightly I think, that this is an accusation generally levelled by terribly middle-class people.