Costly doze

IT WAS ABOUT ELEVEN O’CLOCK in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark blue clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn’t care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.

I'm groggy. Dan made it out the door before 8, Tim heads off after 9, while I delay until 10. At Lime Street, I'm signed into the Lloyds building where Letitia and I work through our IIBA session.

I wander back along Holborn picking up some tent repair tape and a water bladder for my rucsac. It's hot and sunny and crowded. There are emails to write and tasks to hand over before the end of the day.

I walk to Paddington and get the 18:05 to Bedwyn. Standing room only, I find a space in the catering carriage, propped against the 'bar'. Listening to the radio, I doze as the train empties, until I regain consciousness as the train is leaving Pewsey - the stop *after* Bedwyn.

I get off at Westbury and get a taxi back to Pewsey where my mum meets me. It's a 45 minute drive, chatting to Clive - an archetypal Wiltshire elder. The ride cleans out my wallet and I have to borrow some from mum.

There's a late supper of baked potato and salad at home, before bed.