Earlier in the morning Cynical Richard asked "how are you?" as we stood in the sandwich queue (I'm reminded of the priest in the fish-and-chip queue) and he subsequently not only took the time to sit outside with me for a bit and be generally comforting, but even reassured me that if he said "how are you?" he really did mean that he wanted to know how I was.
Went in search of lunch and a hug. hoiho and I unsurprisingly failed to find a pub that was still serving food at 2:30, or rather gave up on pubs when we got as far as Cafe Uno, as we decided that pasta would be a better idea than pub food. Nice food but I barely managed to finish half of it.
Flaked out for a bit at 13FR, managed a desultory look through the new JobFinder, then suddenly decided a bit later to try to get pto452 out and see if she was driveable with the new fan fitted (I've been procrastinating out of general paranoia since her fan blade snapped). We only took her as far as the Texaco (she was in dire need of petrol), but she drove fine. Right-hand trafficator was playing up again, but at least a right hand-signal is the only one that stands a hope in hell of being understood by the general public. Less worried now about getting her to Witchford to be fixed.
Bought a packet of Jelly Babies for sion_a, but he only really wanted the metaphorical variety.
Dinner was leftoversish, TV was repeated Christmas specials. Drinking port that we only bought because it was on special offer, and listening to a ripped CD which seems to keep skipping. These fragments, etc. Withered leaves about your feet. Your feet go stumbling on.