You know that expression, less is more? It’s not true of sleep.
Sharon’s melatonin seems to ensure she gets the hours, if only in patches. Pete just rolls with jet lag knowing that at some point it eventually comes right.
After what seemed like hours of taking screen shots of invoices, refunds and emails, Pete’s collection for the travel insurance is taking shape. There’s nothing else to do at 3am!
At 8am it was time for Pete’s trip to the pastry shop, Buns From Home. Back in the room we both have the hot ham and cheese buns which are quite exceptional.
The Post Office opened at 9.30am and Pete was there on the dot. Margaret Smith in Collingwood wished to return a gold lapel pin given to her father by a touring British Lions player on the 1950 tour. Having found and contacted his granddaughter, Pete was to courier it to her. All good at the PO so far.
As we are no longer hiking we decided to post home all our walking gear. And Sharon’s right shoes. Pete bought two boxes and tape and returned to the hotel room to pack them up.
On arriving back at the PO all hell was breaking loose, in that way that only happens in tense urban environments. At the front of a long queue a small Italian woman was yelling at the Indian postal worker. She had been short changed in a cash withdrawal, she said. Behind her, a lady with a Caribbean accent was yelling at them both because she had to get to work. She also yelled at me for not yelling at them! Behind her was a Scot who told everyone it was all ‘fucking ridiculous’ and that the Indian didn’t know how to count money – he then left in a huff. (The Scot, not the Indian.) Behind the Scot, a small old lady said nothing. Behind her, I said nothing. Behind me a Chinese girl said nothing.
Rather bizarrely at the same counter, a man who was having two birthday balloons (1 and 6) inflated with helium, was try to negotiate the price. (Yes, there was a 1.5 metre high cylinder of helium behind the counter in the Post Office.)
Finally, Pete made it to the counter. (This after the Indian had actually taken the cash dispenser apart and shown the Italian woman the insides. No notes hiding in there.)
Posting stuff overseas is a trial these days. Phone numbers, email addresses, ordinary addresses, accent as a frustrating barrier to communication. If you’re posting to yourself in NZ, you still need a sender’s address in the UK. Pete’ sister’s was the wrong choice. ‘Street number?’ She hasn’t got one. ‘Can you please put the street number?’ No…
‘Can you please put the street name?’ She hasn’t got one. ‘Can you please..’ No, she hasn’t got one.
So you then have to explain the kind of community your sister lives in and why there can be somewhere so small that a house name is all there is.
All up, 35 quids. (NZ$80)
But wait…there’s more. A lot more. Apparently the price quoted before the whole address farago and the customs declaration and value declaration, is wrong.
140 quids. And Pete has already chosen the slowest delivery option and undervalued the contents to a foolish degree.
‘I’ll buy another fucking suitcase.’ is also a good example of a tense urban environment.
Back to the hotel, box under arm. Steaming!
Next up the nearby bookshops. In these Pete can decompress…by buying very heavy stuff that he’s now going to have carry around for a few weeks.
We go through the process of getting Sharon showered. A last minute check reveals our chosen restaurant is closed on a Monday. Good job we didn’t drag the crutches all the way over there!
We choose a Wagamama for ease, situated right by the hotel.
Today’s music is Polaris, by Wagamama Rakia.
Stocking up on chocolate, Orangina and beer we settle down back in the hotel.
It would be nice to just relax but late afternoon/tea time is when Pete has to inject Sharon with her blood thinners. The injecting itself doesn’t seem so bad, but the sting of the medication is nasty.
Around every silver lining there’s a cloud.
Silver lining. UCLH call. Sharon has an appointment at the Fracture Clinic late on Wednesday.
Cloud. This means staying another night in London and our current hotel is already fully booked on Wednesday.
We book into the hotel over the road for a single night and sit down to plan an itinerary for the next couple of days.
More cups of tea, Midsomer Murders, Heartbe… asleep.
Jet lag. Yes, you guessed. It’s a beast.
Leave a comment