I fell asleep on the Piccadilly line last night and woke up at Turnpike Lane. I regained consciousness at the sound of the train driver announcing where we were and for a few seconds I was totally discombobulated: TURNPIKE LANE…TURNPIKE LANE…WHERE THE HELL IS TURNPIKE LANE???

I jumped off the train as the doors were closing and fell flat on my face. It took me quite a while to get up. The answer is that Turnpike Lane is nine stops after the one that I was supposed to get off at.

I mentioned in my blog last week that I’ve been very busy recently so maybe it was tiredness. Or maybe it had something to do with the four margaritas I’d just consumed. One margarita is delicious. Two margaritas is decadent. Three margaritas is almost doable. But four margaritas definitely isn’t. In fact, four margaritas is really two too many.

As it’s December I’ve been thinking about doing a series of blog posts about coping with Christmas – one of the hardest times of year for anyone who wishes they had children (and probably hard in a different way for anyone who does). Four margaritas is one way of coping. But today I’ve got a sprained right ankle and a grazed left knee so I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it.

Part II next week…

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