Quite an award-winning weekend.  On Friday, I travelled to Alfreton, a small town North of Derby, to take the examination for the professional certification which I've been studying for over the last four or five months.  A PC-based examination consisting mainly of multiple-choice questions, and the result delivered instantly on completion - a bit of an unusual experience.  Happily, I passed comfortably.  What now?  I don't know yet.

Anyway, the next day, back to London, this time accompanied by a friend and her nephew.

I watched Sir Stephen Redgrave achieve his fourth Olympic Gold medal in 1996 on a TV in a large department store in Kensington High Street, and by coincidence, on the day that Matthew Pinsent, one of his partners in the coxless fours that day, achieved his own fourth Gold medal eight years later, I was back in Kensington, this time at the Natural History Museum.

As usual, I took some photos.  I was particularly happy with the third pic, an interior shot of the Museum which captures the character of its architecture quite nicely.

In the DVD player: The Young Ones, series two.

In the whisky tumbler:  Sainsburys' Pure Islay Malt.  My usual tipple is the Talisker (a very Islay-esque Isle Of Skye malt), but I also like the Laphroaig (another Islay) very much - so I thought I'd try this, since it's about £10 cheaper - and actually, unlike their Speyside Malt, it's not bad at all, especially at that price.  However, although it certainly has the trademark Islay salty glow and toasted mahogany aftertaste, it's not quite up to snuff, so I'll resist the temptation to be a cheapskate next time.

Ten years ago this week, I started my first job in London, as IT manager for the front office of a Japanese Bank.  For the first year I commuted there from Northampton, initially by train.  It was a particularly exciting and happy time.

Naturally, being of a particularly sentimental and nostalgic disposition, I've thought a lot recently about those first days in Northampton and London, a decade ago exactly.  After parking the car at Northampton railway station, I would pick up a copy of The Times from the newspaper seller in the forecourt, an old gentleman called Charlie, and after finding a seat on the 06:07 to Euston, would sit back to read Bernard Levin's column.


He stopped writing for The Times in 1997, and died on Saturday, following a battle with Alzheimer's disease.

Yesterday morning, I walked to Derby's Midland Railway Station through rain from gloomy, slate grey skies.  Two hours later, I emerged from St Pancras Station into brilliant, warm Summer sunshine - I couldn't have come up with a better metaphor for a visit to London from Derby if I'd scripted it myself.

Nearly two months since my previous trip to London.  I don't normally like to stay away for more than three weeks, and I must admit I'd really only neglected to return there through inertia: too often I've been content to spend a Saturday tinkering with my PC, or this website.  And as if to punish my neglect, once again part of the London I knew and loved has been chipped away - Tower Records' famous, landmark music store at Piccadilly Circus has been replaced by another Virgin Megastore.  And there's now a Tesco Metro at the end of Jermyn Street!  For the life of me I can't remember what occupied the same space previously, but Tesco of Jermyn Street?  That's just not right.

I wandered around as usual, my body absorbing the warm sunlight and my real identity; back to life again for a few precious hours.  Once again I visited Yo Sushi in Poland Street for lunch.  At one time the staff there knew me quite well, would greet me like a friend and bring me my usual bottle of Kirin beer without my having to ask for it, occasionally generously providing me with free sushi.  But none of the old personnel remain to recognise me as the man who in happier times would devastate their supplies of Avocado Maki each Saturday afternoon, so I feel a little anonymous there now.

I walked around St James and Mayfair, hoping to come across the location from The Sandwich Man shown below - with no luck, and as usual, I walked around the shops.  By 7pm, feeling a little weary and sunburned, I called it a day and decided to walk back to St Pancras from the West End, something I've never done before.  My walk along Grays Inn Rd brought back bittersweet memories, but that's another story, and quite a long one.

Anyway, I underestimated the distance and missed my train by five minutes.  The next direct train to Derby wasn't due to leave for an hour, so I boarded a train to Leicester instead, with the intention of catching a local train from there.  Improbably, a train to Derby was waiting to leave on the adjacent platform when I arrived at Leicester.

I do prefer to travel First Class.  Physically, the accomodation is generally considerably more pleasant, and the attendants tend to be more deferential, which I like.  So I was slightly dismayed to find that the seating in First Class for the final leg of my return journey was neither more spacious nor more comfortable than that in Standard Class, differing from the latter only in the fabric used for the upholstery, and those little pieces of cloth draped over the headrests - but I sat there anyway of course, on principle.