11 May 2016, 8.30 pm
I am sitting on a train. The train is stationary. It is nominally the 2015 to Swansea, but 2015 has been and gone without sign of progress, and Swansea seems to be a figment of the train manager’s imagination. We are Losing Time. If we are not careful, we will end up being Delayed. It is hard not to be miserable, when you have just stopped being the CIPA Pee and you really, really want to get home and have a celebratory drink, and then someone announces that due to some rain west of Swindon, the rail network is not simply losing but positively haemorrhaging time and can no longer guarantee to get you home on the same day you set out. It is not as though rain west of Swindon is an unusual occurrence. You’d have thought they’d have had a Plan B for if it rained before a train left Paddington. Ah well. It may be late, but I have been the CIPA Pee for a year and survived, and now it is Someone Else’s Problem, and right now that is sufficient to keep me smiling. 11 May 2016, 11 pm It is perhaps fitting that my last Presidential commute should be one of the worst. By the time I get home, it is too late for the celebratory drink, because everyone has already cleaned their teeth. We are most particular about toothpaste and alcohol at our house. It is dark and I am tired. So tired I can barely locate the front door, let alone the keyhole. Once again I have found the bounds of my enthusiasm, and they are right here, right now. My wonderful, long-suffering husband waves a bar of chocolate at me. This is a tactical move. If I take the bar of chocolate and eat it, all will be well. If I look straight through it, he knows to give me a wide berth. Tonight's berth will be the widest yet.
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