I put Mark on the plane home this morning, then had a bit of trouble with the Tube: someone under a train on the Piccadilly line.
I tried to offset the tragedee of losing my husband's company, with the achievement of retrieving my hat at Tottenham Court Station.
It blew off, hit Mark in the face, and went right onto the tracks on Thursday past, as we went to the British Museum.
Poor hat was instantly a complete mess. I knew I would have to wash it. What I didn't know about was the mice.
"Quite a lo' o' mice," said the fellow. "I loike reuni'ing people wif their propereey, but are you sure you want it?"
When I said yes, and that I'd go home and wash it, he said, "Well, 'old it by the tag, and warsh it - maybe three times, if I were you. Before I'd put it on my 'ead. We 'ave quite a lo' o' mice, down in the tracks, you see."
He was so clearly grossed out by it, that I became totally grossed out by it, and then didn't really want to touch it...or let it contaminate any of my things.
Poor, poor, hat.
Still, I was hungry, and hadn't decided what to do with my day yet, so I had an amazing, cheap brunch outside the station; a GIANT pot of tea, and have come straight home to do laundry, even though it is an amazing, incredible, beautiful day outside, in London, in March.
Seriously, I bring the good weather with me. If I had left my umbrella at home, it'd be pouring right now.
Part of my brain screams, You should be outside!!!! See? It's lovely out the window of my flat.
But I'm exhausted by my week, and staying inside for a few hours to plan my moves for the next few days. I have a window open. And I'll wash the hat.
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