Everything seemed fine until I got to Manchester Piccadilly. There it poured down: an omen of things to come. An announcement rang out, informing that my train was to be moved to another platform. Quite which platform was unknown to passengers because a rather loud, mouthy announcer voiced her announcement all over the top of it. In the event, it was moved to the next platform. Even so… not very good.
Without too much further frustrations I arrived at Stoke, where it was pouring even heavier. I had a look for the bus station and walked in one direction for about a minute before deciding it must have been the other way. It transpired Stoke’s bus station is actually Stoke’s train station with a bus shelter outside. So I was a little wet, and those already seeking shelter under the bus stop were curiously reluctant to allow a further lost soul camp under it. So I got even wetter.
The bus did eventually come, however where it stopped I was pretty clueless. I found that Keele University was a rather bewildering place, and being unclear on where to get off, I just stayed onboard until the driver alerted me it was the last stop.
I got my map out and tried to work out where to go. After twenty minutes of lonely wandering in the torrential rain and two phone calls later, I found out I was at the right place after all. The automatic doors weren’t automatic and I needed to pull instead of push. Anyway, I was a little wet and my map was beyond redemption. I quickly developed a stonking migraine which kept me awake (and violently moving, shaking, punching and kicking) much of the night.
At the moment, I am in the lounge of the Management Centre, using the free wireless. I am doing this because I am to be interviewed last and was invited to leave and come back later. So thus I am, watching the cricket with one wicket to fall. As for the interview, I’m not greatly confident. But oh well…