Feet

Had to get up after far too little sleep in order to go down to the Gateshead office and participate in a student consultative forum. Aargh. Oh well, stuff happens.

The train carriage on the journey back had one unhappy baby who was sick, one octogenarian who sang songs most of the way ('I did it my way' seemed to be his favourite), a toddler who chimed in with "We Three Kings" (having noticed some fields from the window the line 'field and fountain, moor and mountain' kept recurring) and last but by no means least a small dog in a box with a very piercing bark.

As I trudged across the empty space in Waverley where they have the market, someone trekking on the opposite diagonal said in my ear "You look all in, M" - it was Alan B, who had just finished giving four hours worth of maths tutorials. Then I told him about my three-and-a-half hours of student consultation.... We went on our separate ways homewards. Mr H, in spite of his sore jaw, cooked us a delicious meal. 

I was sorely tempted to blip these feet about five minutes earlier, when I was sitting next to their owner at the back of the bus and he had them plonked on the seats opposite, right under the sign that says "Please keep your feet off the seats". But I chickened out. He was smartly dressed and probably considers himself quite a stylish sort of chap. But I think of someone who puts their feet on the seats more as a sort of plonker.