It took an extra day, but the computer’s arrived, and after nearly a whole day of setting up, installing programs, and transferring files, the computer is finally (mostly) set up to my liking. And ooh, it’s nice. It’s very, very nice, indeed. The keyboard is wireless, so I’m currently sitting with my feet propped up, and keyboard on my lap as I type. I could really get to like this.

SO pissed off. I was due to get a computer delivered today, so I took a day off work. Just got a call from Viglen, some software that was supposed to have come in didn’t, so the computer won’t be arriving until tomorrow morning. It’s nice to have the full day off work, but I booked it for nothing, and I’ve got to wait a day longer for the computer!

I have an overly needy lawn. Having had the new turf laid down two weeks ago, followed by lots of warm and dry weather, the lawn is suffering despite daily watering. There’s been some turf shrinkage. There’s been a little yellowing in patches. And then yesterday, the gardener came round before I got back from work and told my housemate that unless the lawn was thoroughly watered for half an hour solid, twice a day, it would be dead by the end of the week. My next water bill is going to be atrocious. I went to Homebase last night and as well as getting a refund on my shed (it was delivered with one of the walls splintered, and then re-delivered with warped wood, so I demanded my money back and will go elsewhere) I also bought some lawn feed. It had better work. I already think that for the money I paid to get the garden done some professional aftercare wouldn’t go amiss.

Went to Harrogate today. Not on a whim, although it does seem like a very nice place, but because I was using a session I got at an alternative health fayre back in June for an iridology and kinesiology assessment. The woman, Lynn, who does it lives up there, so it meant a train journey.

On the train I got a seat at one of the tables, and found myself sitting opposite a 50-something man who was making notes in an A4 pad. I read things like:

VT VV Sheffield to Edinburgh 0921, 1.2 miles Brightside 2 mins

Every few minutes he’d glance at his watch, and then write another line, with the distance and location and time. I figured he was some kind of train spotter or rail enthusiast or something, and diverted my attention briefly to his unnervingly hairy right nostril before trading bemused glances with the man in the seat next to him. At Wakefield Westgate, the first stop, I noticed an unusual clock tower outside the window, so I used my digital camera to take a picture of it. The train guy looked interested, and commented what a nice camera it was compared to his very simple camera, which he pulled out of his bag to show me. I made polite noises, and nosey as I am, asked what he was doing. I wish I hadn’t asked. He launched into a devastatingly boring monologue about how he’d been logging trains since the late 1950s, mostly as a hobby but also occasionally for the rail companies as quality control. Sample of the monologue?

“I’ve only been on 3 trains in the last 6 months that were more than 3 minutes late overall, the figures are quite interesting really.”

I was aghast at what I’d unleashed, and did my best to look as bored and sound as noncommital and uninterested as possible, but he remained utterly clueless. I tried telepathy.

“I’m sorry, but you’re really boring me now. I have no interest in trains. See? This is my bored face. And your right nostril is too hairy. I can’t take you seriously. Please shut up.”

It didn’t work. In the end, I had to stick in my earphones and turn up the volume on my iPod. I could see his lips moving out the corner of my eye, so I relentlessly diverted my attention anywhere but at him. I guess he got the message eventually, because he started unleashing his rhetoric on the poor girl sitting next to me instead. Thankfully, I got off the train at the next stop 10 minutes later.

At Harrogate, I caught a taxi outside the train station, and the driver utterly failed to find the right address. The estate Lynn lived on was like a maze, and eventually the poor driver had to ring the control centre for directions, apologising profusely. I was more bemused than annoyed. He was a nice guy, and he capped the fare. Dropped off at the house, I went to the front door to find a piece of paper stuck to the inside of the glass.

Have moved house. Please call this number for directions. Lynn.

Shit. The taxi was gone.

I phoned the number, utterly relieved that for once I’d remembered to take my mobile phone with me. Lynn answered, and after expressing surprise that she’d forgotten to contact me to tell me, she said she’d moved several miles away. I explained that I didn’t have a car, and the taxi I’d taken had gone, so she had her current client’s daughter, Lisa, drive out to meet me. Lisa arrived around 10 minutes later in a very flashy 2-seater Mercedes-Benz sports car. I’m not usually one for cars, but even I could appreciate it. On the drive back to Lynn’s, we got chatting, and Lisa asked where I’d come up from. When I told her Sheffield, she said that she’d grown up there, and asked me where exactly. When I told her, she was amazed.
“What a small world! I own a club right near there,” she said. “The Dollar, do you know it?”

The Dancing Dollar. Advertised as ‘Sheffield’s Premier Lap and Pole Dancing Venue’. OH yes. I’d heard of it. You just can’t make up days and conversations like these. Anyway, Lisa was very into alternative therapies, she told me as we drove out to the middle of nowhere. Crystal healing, reiki, aromatherapy - and even if they didn’t work as they claimed to do, she continued, if nothing else they generally made you feel upbeat, and that’s good for you too. I thought that was kind of a good take on it.

Finally arriving at the new place, and after waiting for Lisa and her mother to finish up, Lynn ushered me into her session room. She looked closely at my eyes, did some muscle testing, and asked me some questions, and pronounced that I was emotionally and spiritually exhausted, should check if high cholesterol ran in the family, and that there was a very high chance that I was wheat intolerant, and that I should try cutting it out of my diet. She also advised a number of flower essence remedies that the researcher in me is definitely going to read up on. All in all, it was rather interesting, certainly something to find out more about. Kosher or new age mumbo jumbo? You decide.

Finishing up the session, I explained to Lynn that I needed to get a taxi back to Harrogate. Being in the middle of nowhere, she looked up a local taxi company. The place was so small the taxi company consisted of just one man and his car. He said that he only lived down the road, and he could be there in five minutes. Five minutes later, the phone rang. The taxi driver. His gearbox had died and he wouldn’t be going anywhere. Don’t panic, Lynn told me. Her next client, who was due to arrive any minute, was from Sheffield. Perhaps he could give me a lift home. Happily, he didn’t mind at all, and obliged once his session was finished. Very nice man too. We spent the car journey back chatting about work - he was retired and wanted to move to Spain, Sheffield - how it’s changed, property prices - terrible, far too high, and random chit-chat. He dropped me off right at Meadowhall, the shopping centre just a short tram ride from home.

Oh yes, and I also saw Stealth at the cinema today. But that’s kind of mundane in comparison to the rest of the day, isn’t it?

Whilst I was waiting at the tram stop on the way home this evening, a man strode up onto the platform, and parked himself impolitely close to me. He was perhaps only in his 40s, and he looked angry and on edge. His fingers were stained from nicotine, and as I shuffled out of the way in mild annoyance, he pulled out another cigarette. Lighting it with a silver Zippo, he glanced at his watch in the same movement, and cursed under his breath. He was obviously running late for something. He sucked on the cigarette like it was a blocked straw, making his cheeks look even more hollow, and blew smoke downwind past me. Looking at his watch again, he stared at it long enough to watch the seconds tick away, swearing some more. Within less than a minute, he’d obviously had enough. He flung the half-smoked cigarette hard onto the tram tracks and stalked off, heading towards town. I watched him go, and seconds after he crossed the road the tram rumbled up the hill. I got on, and as the tram turned the corner I saw him still walking, an angry expression still on his face.
Part of me felt he deserved to be late.