Good train journey up. Train was full by Hove. An posh old dear sat in front of the gorse Fox (who was pretending to sleep). "Jan, dear" she said in a posh, stage whisper, "you can't possibly stand, sit on my lap". A sly look from the GF ascertained that Jan was a perfectly healthy, robust woman of middle years... and perfectly capable of standing along with everyone else. Evidently, everyone else had made the same assessment, and Jan was left standing.

Gosh. Found my way to Westminster and checked in through the security portal. This is a cylindical perpex pipe with sliding sides. You approach the portal and the security guard hits the button.

Shhhhhffffffft, the wall of the cylinder rotates to allow you to enter.
Shhhhhfff-clunk the wall rotates closed and catches on your laptop backpack.
You can't move.
The guard is busy tallking to someone else.
Cough, cough, excuse me.... helloooo!!!
Guard tuts. Releases door, you remove backpack and shuffle back into the portal.
A queue has now developed. People wishing to enter and to exit the hallowed halls.
Shhhhffffffffft the door slides closed. You sigh with relief... and wait. You are now entombed in this perspex sarcophagus. It crosses the mind that this would not be a good moment for a panic attack, or to release your control on any intestinal gasses that may have built up in the excitement.
The devil in you starts to question the latter assertion.
Before you can react, shhhhhfffftt the panel in front of the portal slides open and you step out into the holy of holies.

Good meeting with the Shadow. Lots of new projects under consideration, and lots of opportunities. I won't bore you with the details.