![]() ![]() My old ma is pretty tired of waking up every day to the same number of hours alone. I was rather sad to see them go too, even if it did allow me and the charismatic pastor to spread out a bit. One of them South African John was most intrigued about the Island Wife bit and instructed his wife, via text or whatsapp or something, to Google me too and then to buy the book. I swapped seats and then started chatting, which wasn’t all that kind or sensitive, as they had work to do, but they were gracious enough to indulge me as we swapped life histories, zip folder sized. At first, they sat opposite each other, squashing me and a very charismatic pastor against the window, until we established between us that they were going to have to keep whizzing the laptop round in order to complete their work, which would drive me and the charismatic pastor nuts long before Ely. My next new friend was on the journey north, two fine young men (everyone’s young to me) en route for a presentation in Stirling. ![]() ![]() I was sad when we said goodbye in Peterborough. Now it’s something to be proud of, the fact that you are Google material at all. Ten years ago that would have sounded insulting. Of course I gave her the lowdown on island Wife and of course she said she would Google me. I told her that’s exactly what I was going to say and we were firm mates for 3 hours from that first chuckle. I knew Annie was going to be fun when she said, as she reached up to the luggage rack, and her flat, firm midriff was revealed, that her granny used to warn her that her kidneys would fall out. Four trains to get down and four to get back and by the time it was over I was well-practised in minding the gap and in avoiding those delightful old darlings who hump their suitcases onto the platform and then stop dead to pull on gloves or to re-arrange their scarves, causing a massive pile up and not a little tutting.Īnnie and Damien were (and probably still are) a delightful young couple on their way to a relative’s wedding plus a few family visits. I say ‘trains’ because to get to Norfolk is not for the faint-hearted, not on public transport. Down south, brambles are those sharp things that tear your stockings when you take short cuts home. Even the brambles are huge which is why they’re called blackberries. I wandered through supermarkets sporting foreign sounding pulses, sauces and I marvelled anew at the down south size of parsnips, pidgeons and farm machinery. I became re-aquainted with the red and green man who tells me when I can cross the road, saw babies in catwalk clothing being propelled along in buggies the size of small cars, of business women in heels and pencil skirts, with strident voices and sassy black ear pieces, talking to themselves, not an anorak nor a dither among them. ![]() I was reminded of delays, of queues and of road rage, of warm locals filled with locals, a merry fire blazing in the grate and good hoppy beer on tap. If anyone, or anything feels neglected and unloved, then I don’t blame them for pulling on their stout boots in search of alternative warmth and friendship. When your words take off like that, it may not have been entirely their fault. Now there’s a thing! I captured a lot of them on paper, laying them down word by word and I swear I heard them all sigh with relief. I have just been busy with lifey things for a while and somewhat strapped for words, but as I tootled back north the other day after a lively visit to my old ma, I heard them all (the words, that is) stomping back into my brain like old and welcome rellies. Just in case you are wondering if I’m still at sea, like half-way to Norway by now, let me tell you it’s not true. ![]()
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