It's the thought that counts...

I bought a birthday card in Sainsbury's yesterday. Looking at my receipt it is listed as "STD For Her Card". Probably not quite the present she was after...

Poldhu & Church Cove

Taking advantage of the brief return of decent weather, Saturday saw us heading to the beach at Poldhu on the
Lizard.

A spot of sun-snoozing and an ice cream (Roskilly's wild cherry, mmm) later, we walked up to the Marconi monument on the cliff top - site of the first radio message sent across the Atlantic in 1901. You can still see the concrete footings of the buildings that stood there (if you can get the cows to mooove out of the way) and the circular earthworks on the site of a revolving dish aerial.

Next stop was Church Cove - the church itself was locked on Saturdays sadly, but it's a very pretty setting. I even had a paddle. Wouldn't want to swim there, I have to say, just up to my ankles I could feel the current, and the pebbles were sucked out from under my feet with every wave. Even so, there were people in swimming.

Bend ze knees!

So I arrive at the station yesterday, a good half-hour early, as it's Friday and I got released at 4.30 rather than 5. There is a rapidly-filling coach outside in the car park. Being of a suspicious nature, I approach the cross looking attendant.

"Sorry, where's this for?"
"What?" He glares at me, crossly.
"What train is this for?"
"Falmouth," he snaps, walking off.
I follow him, unsure if it's ok to get on, as there are people standing up all the way down the centre aisle, and people still waiting on the pavement.
"Can I get on?"
"What?" He goes back to talking to another attendant - they don't sound overly chuffed as it appears another train has been cancelled. Well guess what mush, we're the ones trying to get home and chances are we are considerably less chuffed than you and the least you can do is do your flaming job with some semblance of courtesty.
"Is it alright if I get on?"
He flicks me a dismissive glance and shugs. "Suppose so."

So I climb aboard and join the people standing in the gangway; I'm about three seats back from the driver. We're all hanging onto the luggage rack over the seats, like so many deranged monkeys.

There are still people waiting on the pavement, I think they've refused to stand. Good luck getting home then guys, because this coach will certainly be the replacement for a train that should have left over half an hour ago.

We set off, on a tour of the local stations that I know from experience will take at least an hour (the train takes 17 minutes). I assume it's rather like skiing - swaying from one side to the other, constantly shifting your weight in an attempt not to fall over. You certainly get a good view of the countryside from standing up in a coach though, I have to say.

Eventually, at the stop before mine enough people get off that I can finally sit down. I grab my bag form the overhead shelf - there is a large, disgustingly wet blob of chewing gum stuck to it. I peel it off and look for somewhere to put it. Settle for flicking it under my seat - however it sticks to my fingers and goes slightly off course. Am now worried it's hit the shoes of the person in the seat behind, but am too scared to look...

In the seat next to me is a person so huge they are literally taking up half of my seat as well. I am pressed unpleasantly against their thigh, my right leg perforce dangling in the gangway. I rather wish I'd stayed standing up.

When I finally get home, I go to wash the chewing gum residue off my hands and discover that the fingers of both hands are black with dirt from where I've been holding onto the carpeted luggage shelf. can I get me an "ewwww" please?

Maybe it was having cravings?

Passing the maternity wing (no laxative jokes please) I walked behind a car that had its hatchback bit wide open. Looking in (being terminally nosy) there was a huge Alsatian lying in there, scarfing down a polystyrene tray full of chips and tomato sauce. Bizarre.

Genuine Spam?

I've just received a junk email with the title "cantankerous pork chop". Sounds like a cryptic crossword clue to which the answer is Miss Piggy...

Tell them about the honey, mummy!

You might think life is bad, but spare a thought for m'colleague's daughter's partner (still with me?) who works for an advertising company, and last week had to give a presentation - dressed in a Honey Monster suit. I've just seen a picture of it. It's enormous. And he could only see out of the mouth. Not embarrassing at all, no.

Balls?

My favourite Wimbledon commentary so far this year: Morigami folded at last

A sense of perspective?

It's not that often you get all the newspapers leading on the same story - the death of Diana, 9/11 and so on - so it made me laugh last Thursday to see in the hospital shop a row of newspapers all with the front page dedicated to the new Prime Minister Harold Saxon Gordon Brown - with, obviously carefully positioned right in the middle, the Daily Star, which was leading on the break up of Preston and Chantelle.