Considering we turned the tv off at almost 4am, it was an early morning for me. While I waited for Neil to wake up, I caught up on the writing. A breakfast diner round the corner was meant to be awesome, so when I had packed we headed over there.
And apparently they close on Mondays. Balls. Not to worry, the Waffle House proved to be just as good, in a different way. It was a good place, though I don't think I should have chosen the savoury option of sausage and mushrooms with a sweeter gravy. But: they weren't stingy with the tea; the pot was the size of a volleyball. Said goodbye (nay, "see you soon") to Neil, and got the train down to Liverpool Street Station, churned out another review, and next thing I know, I'm in the heart of London.
Martin met me at Liverpool St. and we went for a beer or two at the Water Poet. Jules had just started training in London for the week so he came to meet us; Martin's girlfriend Karen came for a couple as well. It was good to catch up, as it had been about 6 years since we had done so. Hopefully he'll be able to get out to BC sometime and get some skiing in. I had aimed to hang out in London until after the commuter's rush, so at 9:30pm I got the train home to Cosham.
The whole weekend caught up with me; I think I woke up only at Petersfield, the stop before mine. I felt like my eyelids were weighed down, and I almost considered staying on the train to keep napping and catch the return trip back. Then I remembered.
Taxi!
Home.
Bed.
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