Two seagulls sit

After waking up for the 9th day in a row after 9am (ahhh holidays)I did eventually get out of my PJs, into the shower and out the door to the train station.

It was such a glorious day for a trip to the art gallery; the sun was bashing through the leaves in Hyde Park and bringing out all the personal trainers and their slaves (I was in shock, there were probably about 20 different pairs along the road towards the gallery alone).

For the novelty/nostalgia factor, I took my old film Canon SLR with me - such a funny feeling when you take a photo and go to look at the result and there isn't anything there! But I just love love love the natural sound of the shutter. mmm film. Not sure where I'll get it developed, or when, or how I'm going to scan the photos, seeing as I don't have a scanner, but still. Nice for a change.

I also took my knitting (am knitting a beanie at the moment as well as a jumper). I soon discovered that public knitting apparently gives people the right to talk to you, unannounced!

I was sitting on Lewisham station, knitting away (knit two, purl two, knit two, purl two) when the woman beside me begins to stare at me, through the corner of her sunnies. When I look up, she looks away like a startled seagull.

[A train goes past, not stopping]
"When's the next train due to come?" Seagull asks.

"12:19. I think."

"Ooh I hope that wasn't our train forgetting to stop."

I chuckle slightly to stop the awkward interaction getting anymore awkward.

[30 seconds passes. I'm intent on finishing the row before the train comes]

"What are you knitting?"

"A beanie."

"Ahh.... at least you can knit!"

"I only learnt in April. I'm still getting the hang of it."

"My daughter had to knit squares for school. And I tell you - it was the parents who ended up doing it...."

I chuckle slightly again, trying to concentrate on the row.

The seagull isn't done with this conversation yet. "Sewing and knitting - it's a lost art, isn't it."

[Train arrives! yes. row done.]

"Mmm... I'm not a very good sewer."

Like two seagulls on the beach, brought together momentarily by the promise of something great, we then scuttle off into separate carriages.