Was rather flummoxed yesterday when purchasing my rail ticket at Guildford Station when the woman behind the counter gave me a bright smile, was extremely helpful, smiled again and even wished me a good journey and a pleasant evening in London. Well, gosh! Not something that's ever happened before when travelling on Network South. It really cheered me and set me up for a wonderful evening (thanks, Jane W - lovely to see you as ever!). Though I have to admit my general bonhomie slid down a notch or two when I realised it was Guildford Station Customer Service Week. Ah well - I should have known it couldn't have been my own personal charisma (conspicuous as ever by its absence). Perhaps it could be Customer Service Week every week? It would certainly make travelling by train far more palatable ...
Today, I have scrawled a few meaningless sentences to Hallsfoot's Battle and am just scraping into the 24,000 word zone. Lord alone knows where I'm going now though - it's a mystery. I do hope Annyeke or Simon gets an idea soon - that would help.
This afternoon I have spent a glorious couple of hours having a Clarins massage. Ah, bliss. I think I even nodded off at one point - which is unprecedented. Honestly, this is the most relaxed I've been since 1975. And what a year that was. Thirza (the therapist) was telling me of her recent trip to Cornwall when one of her friends shrieked with delight at the sight of a real farmer on a real tractor. Apparently she'd not seen one before. Ah, the Young People - a marvellous breed, you know. Anyway, they'd had a fabulous time though Thirza did say the villagers did give them some curious looks to start off with. I suspect it's probably because they've not seen a stranger since 1903 (being a country girl born and bred, I'm fully able to say this, so please: no postcards!).
I also suspect it's the traditional countryside envy for those city folk who have (a) mains gas, and (b) mains sewage. I have fond memories (shut your eyes now if you're of a delicate disposition ...) of the quarterly visitations of the "shit lorry" down on the farm where our cesspit in the garden would have to be moved. Not to mention everyone else's cesspit too. And woe betide any unsuspecting gal who came to stay and attempted to dispose of female accessories down the loo. God forbid! Believe me, retrieving them is definitely a man's job. Mind you, it's not so far advanced here in the Godalming twilight zone, where the house's Victorian plumbing means we're strictly rationed to five sheets of loo roll per visit - or risk the downstairs neighbour's wrath. Though, to be fair, Downstairs Neighbour himself does admit that after surviving the WWII Russian Front, anything's a plus ...
Tonight, I shall attempt to squeeze out (if I dare use that phrase at this point?) a few more words for Annyeke and Simon to play with, and I really have to watch Boris. Should be good.
I've also finished reading Sophie Hannah's "The Point of Rescue". Amazing. Everyone who loves good crime writing should definitely read this. It got to the point this morning when I had to stop everything, sit down quietly and simply finish it - which rarely happens, as I always read when I'm doing something else. She writes like a dream - even when I'm muddled about the plot, the main female lead irritates the hell out of me and the so-called relationship between the two police officers is frankly ridiculous. I just had to find out what happened - some amazing twists for sure, some of them on the dodgy side of believable, but really it just doesn't matter. Read it - it's worth it.
Today's nice things:
1. Trucking on with Hallsfoot, slowly, slowly
2. Clarins massage
4. A good book.