In positive news, no one tried to kill me this week.

Our Christmas tree was delivered, but then sat naked for most of the week. On Sunday I dug out some Christmas CDs and cooked while L— did most of the decorating. It now looks very festive.

I spent a day in the Cotswolds to discuss some potential contract work. Cirencester is a very bougie town – it has an Aga shop, for example, a sure sign of people with more money than sense – but it doesn’t have its own railway station. Instead, you have to take a train to Kemble, a small hamlet a couple of miles up the road. The station is a rather desolate stretch of platform surrounded by car parks, but it does at least have a fast direct train from London.

Yes, of course it’s Beeching’s fault.

More news on the work in due course, I hope.

London is full of public transport amateurs at the moment. I assume they’re in town for Christmas. They gawp and stare and crowd and block the doors as if it’s their first day out in the world, and perhaps it does feel like that for visitors from Carland.

Quite a few links this time: