Medical Elective- Day 7

I am writing today’s blog on a coach. It is proving a little tricky. The tray table cannot support the weight of my tiny net book and so the poor little thing is balancing on my lap. Today has been on the whole rather uneventful. I booked these coach tickets a couple of weeks before heading to London so I knew I was probably just going to spend this morning kicking my heels, waiting to head to Victoria around 1.30pm for my 3pm coach to Nottingham. My 3pm coach that then broke down at Golders Green. So I am now on a coach to Leicester, where they have promised there will be a connecting coach, especially for us, over to Nottingham. No matter. Today I am going back to see The Boy. We have been together for about a million years and have had to spend time apart before but it’s still nice to see him. I couldn’t do that if I were in Mexico (the up side of not currently being on the world’s best holiday, ahem, I mean Elective with two of my best friends who travelled to Belize via Mexico. All their status updates are about sunshine and pina coladas.) So, on the positive side, I at least get to nip home every now and again and see The Boy and The Parrot. The Parrot I have been missing particularly.

The Boy has reserved us a table at a South Indian restaurant for 8pm. I was due in at Nottingham at 6.15 to go home, change and come out for a lovely evening. I’m now due in at Leicester at 6.20pm so I will probably just have to go to dinner in my jeans and sweater. No matter. There’s no point being angry at things you can’t change. And hey, I like this sweater. It’s started to get those little runs of holes things get when they’re old.

Just before the light started to go I managed to complete today’s portrait. It’s a biro picture of me via a compact mirror, on the coach. Sadly I don’t have my camera with me so I will probably just wait and upload a picture retrospectively tomorrow. But I promise I did do one.

I like coach journeys. No distractions, time to your own thoughts. Music. A book. Currently I’m reading the sad tale of a poor little rich girl who got addicted to plastic surgery. She so far hasn’t inspired my sympathy but I’m trying my best for empathy. We’re not too far from Leicester now, and I don’t really have anything else to say, so I will call this a day. I look forward greatly to my coconut curry, lacey pancakes, The Boy and The Parrot.

 See, told you so.