I think the definition of stress must be missing the turning and ending up being unable to cross Vauxhall Bridge to Sarf London, and it taking two and a half hours to get to Camberwell by car from High Barnet (probably about 12 miles) in the second hottest day in a hot September. I'm still petrified of public transport, and so, it seems, are a lot of other people.
It was worth it in the end, to sit with the Offsprogs and eat round a table in the garden, with a baby fox crunching something sinister on the roof of the dilapidated garden shed under the eagle eye of Offsprog Two's cat, who seems to have fallen in love with me.
Tranquil, with the night breeze blowing next door's weed smoke and conversation over the wall, a dog barking in the distance and the background hum of traffic: Camberwell tranquil.
On the way back, I mused on the SUV vehicles that seems specifically designed for bullying road-users to bully in. 'Im bigger than you!' cars, for people who want to drive really fast down small streets lined with parked cars on each side, and when they can't, they aggressive tailgate you to get their own back on... everyone.
That's enough for now!
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