Signs and Portents.
I had a lovely two-week holiday in Edinburgh and Galashiels, and then:
- Fight home delayed by 1 hour.
- Train then bus from the airport to home inexplicably slow. Arrive after 1am.
- Home to discover kitchen ripped up for refurbishment. Meaning no washing machine for dealing with burgeoning pile of holiday laundry.
- Discover that all local laundrettes have opening hours only suited to the unemployed.
- Train strike on the first day back at work. Arrive late and curse lazy bastard ASLEF drivers, yea, unto the deepest and foulest of Great Cthulhu’s crushing pits of seeping insanity.
I think the universe is trying to tell me I should just have stayed in Scotland for another week.