Nostalgia has me firmly in its grip tonight, as I find myself back in the same hotel in which I first started this blog all those hours- can it really be nearly 48?- ago. Rather disconcertingly, the room the nice Crowne Plaza people have put me in tonight is absolutely identical to the one I was in t'other night, and I arrived on the same train, and Masterchef is on the telly now as then, but not everything is the same. Oh no. Everything in the room is identical but the other way round. Some people would have no trouble with that, I'm sure, and would use the evidence of their eyes to navigate the room, but I was a little too gung-ho and now have a nastily smashed shin from a coffee table being where no coffee table had any right to be (in this case, opposite the identical coffee table on the exact other side of the room).
That's not what I'm here to say, though. What I'm here to say is that the woman at the checkout at Boots in Baker Street, as she rang up my purchase tonight, turned to her colleague and said, without even slightly lowering her voice, 'Lemsip? For FUCK'S sake.'