I didn't sleep particularly well last night. I've got the world's snottiest, most persistent, cold (it's been going for a week and a half and shows no sign of abating) and just as I dropped off someone in the room above started taking a bath. The plumbing in the Bedford Hotel is loud. I woke with a start and grumpily spent the the next 3 hours listening to toilets flushing and showers being taken.
It's not all trips to Bali you know.
So I'm now stuck on a homeward bound Eurostar with Belgium's most boring man. And he's sitting with North London's most boring man. And the two are talking transport.
There's something particularly wretched about talking transport. It's somehow duller and even featureless than the weather. We've run the full gammut too. There's fog at Brussels airport (if there wasn't I'd be spared the conversation). The two have swapped the numbers of reliable taxi drivers from their respective localities. The Brit has patiently explained the role of the Thameslink in the London transport signal and its relationship to the Oyster card. Now we are on to motorway juctions in Belgium. The factory is at junction 25a, you see, but the Belgian is explaining that there are major roadworks at the next interchange and that may effect travel times, though of course that will depend on the time of day. Hmmmm.
This boring conversation makes me want to go to sleep, but perversely keeps me awake. Argh!