I’m back at the 02. Oh hell.

Stationary traffic all the way to the dome. I’m in the unofficial taxi queue. Ubers in front, Ubers behind. I’m inside a line of cones. No camera that I can see… I’m gonna stay here if I can. I’ve sent Lou a pin.

The Brit Awards are over and now everybody wants to get the heck away from here. Right now the coppers are too busy with crowd control to tell us to move. I’m hoping that Lou will successfully extricate herself and find her way here to my pin with her sewing machine before the rush finishes and the guys in Hi-Vis have the headspace to come and tell us all that we aren’t allowed to be here. This is very much as close as I’m likely to easily be able to get and once I’m back in the flow of traffic it’ll be a lottery with no way to control pick-up location. I should have brought my chauffeur hat. Makes me look more authentic.

It’s 11pm. Two hours drive to Brighton. I’m already pretty tired although I let myself have late coffee and today was not particularly strenuous. I went to Hampstead and looked at a mattress. I decided it was too heavy to take without help. I went for a little walk and then drove home again. And scene.

Writing this now is a break with tradition but I have a feeling I’ll be exhausted by the time I get to Brighton and the other option is to sit here fretting about getting fined and listening to Ash Sarkar getting angry about capitalism on Radio 4. It was an interesting programme, but in the end I just started getting pissed off about the fact that I’m still in a position where two day’s work cold calling is something I say yes to.

I’m still waiting on the confirmation deposit for the Majorca drive later this month. Something I can’t afford to look forward to until I’m certain. There has been a great deal of disappointment recently. I’m learning to hold my hopes lightly.

Five past eleven and Lou just messaged… Hopefully soon. I’m gonna get my head back into driving mode. I am hungry. Should’ve thought of that…

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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