Bleary 

The past two Saturday’s running I’ve been up by 5:00am. Last weekend was Brownie holiday: they went to sleep at gone midnight and were up again at 4:30am, pelting about like a herd of over stimulated rhinos. Or Overexcited Brownies. Sunday was similar but they took pity and were a little quieter. 


Today I’m at Heathrow. Flying out to Indianapolis via Chicago. I get to see T! But not F, who’s at TNNA. Still. I get to meet the lovely Lady Rosamund and I shall be delivering several copies of The Lady magazine and a Queen’s Birthday souvenir special edition of OK. 


Incidentally: isn’t the Queen’s marriage one of the most fabulous things in the world. How much do they still love each other and delight in each other’s company? Wouldn’t it be lovely to think that we’d all be so lucky as to have that sort of relationship? Yes, they have a comfortable life. But it’s hard work, constantly scrutinised, and never ending! The Queen vowed to serve us all her life. And she has. There was a lovely story in the Standard yesterday, about a chap who had an audience with her, having come back from Afghanistan or somewhere equally ghastly. He couldn’t speak for nerves. So she brought the corgis in, and they fed them biscuits until he was feeling less fraught. I reckon Prince Philip would be similarly good at breaking the ice. Although possibly with a rude remark. 

I digress. There’s going to be lots of hotel treadmill running for the next two weeks. I’m doing colour run in Indy on Saturday (I can walk it if need be). I’m considering Novemver Project if the asthma allows. 

I am going to be without N for 17 nights. Which seems slightly less worse written down than said out loud. But is still too long. 

Xxx

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