I went to a friend's leaving drinks tonight. Obviously, due to my aforementioned condition, it was going to be a slightly different night out than we're used to having when we're together (we can get a little silly). I was on the cranberry juice (minus the vodka), and although I accompanied the smokers on a few of their trips outside, I didn't do anything other than longingly sniff at the air.
It was a good night, all told. I ate dinner at the pub, which is notorious in the area for good quality food for less cash than you'd expect to pay in a gastropub. I'll elaborate, for those foodies out there. Grilled chicken sandwich with crispy bacon and lettuce, fresh sliced tomato and red onion, wheat bun and huge chunky chips with homemade ketchup... *drool* But I digress.
I've become very spoiled in the last few weeks of not having to travel from Uxbridge to Paddington and back. My temp job is literally five minutes walk from our house, and I'll admit fully to not having missed the commute. Add to that the fact that I've begun to feel a vague constant nausea and you'll get the picture that I wasn't exactly looking forward to the trip into town tonight. However, the girl in question is a great friend, and I knew it had to be done, so I trudged home from work, changed into more comfortable clothes, packed a questionable romance novel into my ever-capacious handbag (read "suitcase") and headed out.
The journey in was fairly uneventful, I read my book and listened to a bit of John Mayer, got off at the other end and made my way to the pub. The friend whose drinks it was proceeded to stand up in the booth and announce my condition to the group of about thirty people I used to work with, which was fairly amusing, and congratulations rained down upon me from all and sundry (as well as a few "well done, mate"s for Himself, like it makes him more of a man for knocking me up). I also had more than my fair share of comments regarding the rapidly inflating upper region of my chesticular area... *grin* As the booze began to flow, hilarity reigned, and I settled in to watch people as their inhibitions slowly bit the dust.
Finally I was too tired to stay any longer, so I made my excuses and headed for the tube station. There were minor delays posted on the board for the Metropolitan line (the one I need to use to get home, of course) but I figured I'd left early enough that it didn't really matter, I'd still get home at a decent hour, and I still had plenty of the questionable novel to entertain myself. Although there were no trains listed for Uxbridge, I figured I'd just catch the first train and change at Harrow-on-the-Hill, so I plugged in the earbuds and found a seat.
An hour later, I finally made it to Harrow-on-the-Hill. For those of you who don't know London, that's quite a ways from Uxbridge. I'd made it through the end of John Mayer's second album, and started on Jason Mraz. Standing on the platform (which at that part of the line is no longer underground) was a bit chilly, but I had my scarf and plenty of frustrated people to shield me from some of the wind, and again, my questionable novel to keep me entertained. Train after train was announced... "Watford"... "Amersham"... "Northwood"... Not Uxbridge. People were getting more and more frustrated, with angry mutterings and flouncings about the platform. Then, after half an hour of interminable waiting, the announcement came... "The next Uxbridge train will be on platform 4 in six minutes..." We all gathered expectantly, with only a slight dip in mood as yet another Watford train pulled in and left practically devoid of travellers.
It's not often that Londoners combine their independent selves into a coexisting group comprised of total strangers. Apparently, the vagaries of Transport for London is one of the causes of this miraculous happening, because as the Uxbridge train finally pulled into platform 4, a single cheer became a handful of applause which turned into the entire platform clapping and hooting and laughing. We all boarded in good spirits, smiling benevolently at each other, pleased that we'd made it through yet another commute and happy to be that much closer to home.
Speaking of home, I'm there now, tapping away at the keys while Himself reads his Star Wars novel ("X-Wing - Wedge's Gamble", because I know you needed to know which one). The moglets are frustrated because I've hung a dress on the door to the wardrobe and it's impeding their neverending quest to invade said wardrobe and nest in my shoes. All is well in my world, hope it's copacetic in yours.