Nathan left London this evening for a week's work in the sun of South Africa. The poor lamb is flying with Emirates, so has to go via Dubai, which will add eight hours to his journey time. A visit to the Middle East is fine, I assume, if you can have a bit of time to explore the place, but if you’re just sitting in a departure lounge at shit o'clock in the morning feeling exhausted, the idea becomes considerably less appealing.
I dropped him off at Heathrow. I say dropped him off; I mean that I battled through broken London's appalling traffic chaos for 3 hours and nearly got us killed on the M25. To add insult to injury, we were even stopped by police, because one of our car’s back lights wasn’t working. It was a horrifying journey which has left me feeling both shaken and stirred. Our goodbyes to one another were fairly fraught as a result, and the whole experience has left a rather bad taste in my mouth.
I came home, feeling dejected and missing Nathan, but fortunately Fiona was on hand with baked potatoes, and we had a good natter.
My blood test results came back today. I was passing the surgery, so popped my head in on the off chance. Quite how long they'd have left it before telling me I’d tested positive for Pertussis (Whooping cough) I don't know, and the receptionist couldn't make any sense of the report that had been sent, so merely printed it out and handed it over. Frankly, I could have been anyone! She didn’t ask for any identification. Still, I’m very pleased to officially know what's been so dreadfully wrong with me, but slightly angry at the same time that it took the doctors so long to spot it. It’s doesn't bode well for future diagnoses!
350 years ago, Pepys and Elizabeth called in on Lady Sandwich to show her the very handsome handkerchief that had been made out of the lace she insisted Pepys bought for his wife. In the afternoon they went to the theatre to see the second act of Davenant’s, The Siege of Rhodes. The journey home was something of an adventure, which I’ll leave Pepys himself to describe:
"The coach driving down the hill through Thames Street, which I think never any coach did before from that place to the bridge- foot, but going up Fish Street Hill, his horses were so tired, that they could not be got to go up the hill, though all the street boys and men did beat and whip them. At last I was fain to send my boy for a link, and so light out of the coach till we got to another at the corner of Fenchurch Street Fenchurch Street, and so home, and to bed."