‘Misgivings’. An interesting word. Meaningless apart from the moment you are in the midst of it. The night before I was to go to London, I had ‘misgivings’. The weather report was okay, I was prepared for the day--there was no reason for ‘misgivings’ but there they were, none-the-less, like an overheard conversation caught out of the corner of your ear as the the compartment door closes and the tube-tram pulls away to its next destination--you can’t quite make out what was said but you’ve the distinct impression you should have disembarked at the last stop-or perhaps even stayed in bed. It looked promising enough . . . the day, I mean. A little bit of jaunty, unpredicted crispness to the air but not so much as to be of concern--the sun was shining! Lovely day to go to London. Excepting that I was destined to not quite make it. (To be continued under: 'Trouble at Harpenden')
