Had a delightful time at Tasha's engagement party in Bishop's Stortford, in deepest, darkest Hertfordshire. actually, it was only the combination of forthcoming storm clouds and being at the outset of the onset of dusk, that contributed to weakening of sunlight, but it was certainly was far into Hertfordshire.
On the subject of pleasure, London was a different matter. Pulling into London Victoria, I felt fine; one hour later I was stressed. But the minor headache I had developed dissipated just as I sat on the right train to leave the city. It was a clear illustration of why I prefer the more sedate life away from the constant bustle and frequent hassle of the capital.
Our computer rail planner said the quickest way to Bishop's Stortford, once across the Thames was to catch the Tube's Victoria Line to Tottenham Hale, then swictch to national rail. How simple. Getting into the Victoria Tube station, Altaa and I found what our rail planner had failed to mention, that they are still doing engineering works on the blue Underground network and that they had knocked out the entire line again, not just for Sunday, but the whole weekend. It's been so long since I'd used this mode of transport I'd forgotten. With all their strikes and pay and beneifits increases, you'd think Tube workers would provide a better service than the mass inconvenience this caused (then again, their Union leaders are hard-left so they probably think the unsmiling Soviet system perfect). the bags of time I thought I had suddnely proved to have very large holes in them.
Being advised as the best way to Tottenham Hale by one of the unlucky Tube workers who had to stand by the locked gates to the Victoria Line's entrance and face sharp questioning from irriatetd passangers, it was a dash to the dreeaded District Line (fine this time, thankfully), switch at Monument to walk to Bank (including a section overground) for the Central Line to Liverpool street. That's just one stop, but as someone was "under a train" at Mile End, there were delays in the train pulling into Liverpool Street, which had become the new terminus. sorry, but if a person can't stand life anymore (and there are numerous support groups to help them reconsider), they could stock up on certain pills and have a peaceful end, unless they have a vainglorious temperament that wants everyone else to know their passing. I strongly remonstrated with myself not to wish the the same fate of the RMT leadership. Thankfully for myself, I succeeded in avoiding doing that.
Bursting up into Liverpool Street's main concourse, I found the information desk; asking the best way to Tottenham Hale, she told me the platform and when it was leaving. It would seem we would miss the connection train to Bishop's Stortford. We got on thr train, noting prior on the board how many stations there were between here and Hale. We would be badly late for the dinner. Then, there was a kerfuffle among some other passengers, several of whom rapidly departed. I checked the LED display board again and we were now on the Stansted Express with the train on the adjacent platform becoming the slow train. Moreover, the Stansted Express had only two stops, Tottenham Hale - and Bishop's Stortford. At last, we could relax.
We got to the host restaurant and bar, Hosts at ten past six, but we could have got there at seven given that this is when the meals started arriving. Near to the train station, I asked for directions to the Corn Exxhange - the area - in a local pub. One of teh punters said, "That's in Oxford, isn't it," but the landlord was aware and at the mention of Hosts, his eyes lit up and we got there slightly fashionably late.