London UndergroundCockfosters
Is a station on the Piccadilly Line, taking people into Barnet. Ooh look, how interesting, a map of Cockfosters
It is also a happily-named station, providing me with an august-sounding, euphemistic verbalisation of my frustration.
For I am frustrated. I have no time to do anything I actually like. I like to watch TV, eat, sleep and maybe even tidy up. But no, every second of my day is clamoured after by people, and not even people who are the closest to me. My closest friends and family know how cockfosterly busy I am and are patient and gentle and forgiving. People who don’t know me – or who don’t care – just demand more and more of my time. This makes me want to staple their heads to the front of a train pummelling its way to Cockfosters.
I also have not had any time to catch up with you all, to see how you are, to read your latest blog posts and email you and find out what's been occurring in your lives-outside-of-blogsville. I do hope you are all well and I aim to carve out more time to splash on your blogs.
I’ve also not had time to write up some rather amusing happenings in the life of Mermaid. Stories I would like to write:
• The chipmunk wot ate out of my hand
• The day my heel got stuck in a train station grating
• The man who just doesn’t get it
• Wings
• Two toads, two frogs, three spiders, one pigeon, one mouse and a small cat
• Mutley still needs to send me an invoice.
I can’t be motivated enough to write them all, so please choose your favourite one and I will write that first.
Except for the last one, that’s a lazy reminder to him that I owe him £ for services rendered.
Willesden Green!
