puddingcat | *seethes quietly*

Reports of road closures and train cancellations were spreading yesterday afternoon, so I left the office at 5.15 to find a bus.

The bus stop was cordoned off to traffic, although not to people. There were no clues as to whether this could last, or where to go for an alternative bus; indeed, whether the buses had been cancelled or merely diverted.

The information office was staffed by unhelpful Jobsworths, one of which (not whom) grunted "Chorlton Street Bus Station" at me. Clearly this was the right place, as the hookers and crack addicts had moved on, and the pavements there were so full of damp, windswept people they were spilling onto the gridlocked road. I wanted to give the volunteer policeman a hug when he wailed "I wanna go home" at me.

45 minutes later, a bus turned up. To make up for the crapness of my week so far, it was the one I needed *and* I managed to get on, *and* get a seat. And then sit in the aforementioned gridlocked traffic.

It took an hour to get a mile from the city centre, and another hour to get to Stockport. Quarter past eight I finally got home, to find that not only was the church still in one piece, but only one fence panel between me & no. 5 had blown out, and that's resting on my conifer in one piece. The cats were fine, if a little overwhelmed by all the smells that had blown at them at once.

And then ATCB phoned to check I'd got home ok. He *had* also called a couple of other people though, but he still confuses me. Woe.

Today, I = near-comatose. I need sleep; if the office wasn't open-plan, and if I didn't have to fill in a timesheet in 6 minute increments, I'd let myself pass out for an hour or two.