Monday 05 November 2012
Guy Fawkes day - or rather, night! A much better thing to celebrate than Halloween, I think.
I see Shadreck at 10:30, he has his test tomorrow. The lesson goes well, then I collect Natalie for a motorway lesson. Another good drive, I'm starting to wonder if it really is Monday. We drive past Heathrow airport, turn round, stop at the infamous Heston services for coffee, then home.
In the afternoon I visit the doctors for a flu jab. In the waiting room a woman with a young baby in a pram is accompanied by Alfie, a young lad around two or three. Alfie happily sits near me on a childs seat, and occasionally waves whatever is to hand in my direction. I smile and nod approvingly, which is what Alfie seems to want. He then decides to explore outside the waiting room. A voice like thunder eminates from his Mum - "Alfie - GET BACK IN HERE!" Alfie ignores her, so her next tactic is to threaten a unilateral withdrawal of sweets. Eventually, Alfie returns to his mum, and sweets, setting a pattern for life where he knows that bad behavior will be rewarded. I resist the temptation to suggest to Mum that she engages in some conversation with Alfie, or perhaps even a game of some sort. She's a lot bigger than me... As my Mum always said - there's nothing easier than bringing up other people's children.
Joe has a lesson at 5:30. He finds it hard driving in busy traffic in the dark. I find it hard sitting next to him in busy traffic in the dark. We survive the trials of the Reading Road roundabout, and look forward to the next lesson - lunchtime on Wednesday in wonderful daylight.
At home I get a late pass from Tina, and set off to collect Ken to watch Saints away to West Brom at "The Old House at Home" in Overton - the least offensive pub I can think of which is screening the footie. There are a few locals watching, all Saints fans, and at the back of the pub, a quiz is in progress. The sound on the TV is turned down, and the quiz sounds a more enticing proposition than the game, unfortunately. Mid way through the second half we're two nil down, and Ken and I retire to the adjoining room in disgust for a game of pool. Ken is very poor at anything requiring basic co-ordination, so to avoid embarrassing him I let him win the first two games. I win the third (potting the black which Ken left over the pocket for some reason), just to show him how it's done...
All together now:
"Oh when the Saints,
"Oh when the Saints,
"Oh when the Saints go marching down...."