Today I left work just after 5 p.m. for the 25 minute journey home - and arrived at 9.30 p.m. In one of my most stupid traffic decisions ever, I used the motorway instead of going through town. Further ahead a car transporter had overturned in the rush hour, shedding its 9-car load over the southbound carriageway, so 4 lanes of heavy traffic backed up 15 miles and had to be channelled through part of Bristol, which was a factor in the second accident on that road...
I got through half a tank of petrol and the stack of CD's thrown on the back seat which someone had given to me when clearing out their stuff. The classical ones were a mixed bag - I like classical, but not for four hours solid. The last one of the pile I managed to grope for said "Aotearoa", and I thought good - some nice Maori harmonies coming up. Sigh. My last hour was spent listening to the twittering of bellbirds, tuis and saddlebacks, thoughtfully recorded by a dedicated NZ twitcher...
...while trying not to think about wanting to go to the loo, and trying not to spot the men who suffer no such qualms, jumping out of their cars to point percy at verges and trees without a care in the world...
On a positive note, after several days of being relatively careful with food intake, particularly at work, I had left the office feeling so hungry that I could think of little but what I was going to treat myself when I got home. Four hours trapped in my car and the corresponding discomfort cooled my ardour, and forced me to reflect that the more I cheat, the longer it will all take, and I was down a pound this morning. So goody goody two-shoes had a salad. Final thought on the subject: happiness is an empty bladder. Nuff said.
The nurse checked my wound this morning and agreed it was taking a bit long to heal, but said it was OK, and give it another week.