I Lost My Glove: February 19 2019

A long day in London. A chat with a cafe owner, he was in Leicester yesterday buying a car. So quiet, he said, beautiful, after the rush of London.

The lift was broken. Four floors up, twice. I missed the early train, the late train was delayed. It had become uncoupled, the announcement said, they were looking for a replacement. Would all the people on platform 4 move back behind the barrier until the train was ready.

Still, there was time for supper at Carluccio's, full of chic people just off Eurostar. The server recognised me, we exchanged greetings and polite enquiries. We were both well. I had spaghetti vongole.

No reservations on the train. The man next to me offered me a cheesy wotsit, I explained no, I've had two dinners today and one of them included chips. He laughed and said cheesy wotsits were his dinner. He worked in IT, it was the last day before his holiday, he hadn't had time to stop. It was half-term, he was spending the rest of the week with his sons, two and seven. He was looking forward to it.

The train manager came through, looking for people who were catching the train for Belper and Duffield from Derby. It's alright, he said, we're making good time, they know you're on this train, we should make the connection.

Back into Leicester, the bus stop outside the station was de-comissioned: a new cycle lane is being built after a cyclist was killed last year. It was a long walk up the hill until finally I came to a bus-stop that was in service. The bus driver was the friendly black woman: she knows everyone on her route. How are you, she asked and, good night, she said, when I got off.

I lost my glove.

All in all, it was a good day.

Walking