INTRODUCTION
STORIES FROM THE ROAD
Christmas in Bromsgrove
Rambling in Colorado
TRAVELOGS
Date???
Do your parents pick you up if you go to visit them?
It seems to me that its almost common practice here in the states to be met at the airport. It isn’t in England, or perhaps it’s just my family? I’ve been flying in and out of the country since I was 18. My dad came to meet me. Once. I had come back from camping in Michigan where I’d dislocated my shoulder. It had taken us about 4 or 5 hours before we found a hospital open at night. The shoulder was messed up from being out of joint for so long. Hence Dad coming to the airport. Dad came to help. But. He went to the wrong terminal. He was in his sixties, a traditional man of his era, in his suit, tie and mild manners. He wandered around Gatwick airport looking for me, forgetting my flight details and unable, physically unable to ask for help. Meanwhile I’m at the other terminal with a backpack full of camping gear that I can’t move. I called my mum. She was having one of her moments. I hung up. Waited. I called my brother. He told me the latest. Dad was on his way home…dad had given up, and left without me!
Well, that was that then.
On the train to London I read the paper. Quite a different perspective on the Iraqi war even with Blair’s support of bush’s administration, there was a general consensus against action. What really struck me though was much more trivial! December 2002 had a total of 18 hours of sunshine. That’s an average of one hour eleven minutes each day! No wonder I don’t live there…can you imagine? No wonder everyone looks so depressed.
At Victoria train station I caught the number 253 bus to Hackney. I liked the buses, but cell phones were everywhere, and so I overheard many a conversation on that fourty minute drive.
That first night I stayed with my aunty Viv, mum’s younger sister. We went to her local pub. Walking down the street we had to shout to each other in order to be heard, the traffic was that loud. Within a few hours of being with her and her fella I need to get moving, exploring the area. Their worry is holding me back. He won’t let me just go, treating me like a child. Old resentments boiled up and I wanted to scream in frustration…I take the cab money than go catch a bus… Bethnal Green. Stoke Newington. Cambridge heath. Whitechapel. All of my old haunts…but all the pubs, the places I used to love, are now closed. That made me sad. Plus it begged the question of how was I going to run into friends now?
The next day I took a bus to the train station. I heard the weather forecast; there’s a possibility of icy roads and freezing fog. It’s a little parky out there ladies!
It is great that we, I mean, England has such a comprehensive transport system but to be honest it’s never as simple as it should be…organization being what it is. One phenomenon that is constantly a stunner is how often a train will be diverted; (ding dong) my name is Becky and I’d like to inform you that we shall be running a little late today because there are leaves on the tracks!
It’s true. It happens all the time. Why? I couldn’t tell you… It’s the voice that gets me. Doesn’t matter what year this is, or whereabouts I am, it’s the same lilt each trip…. perhaps it’s part of the job training? -(Ding dong) this is Becky, and I’d like to inform you that the buffet is now open. We have tea, coffee, hot chocky and yummy snacks. The buffet is now open. We are situated between the first class and the second class.
Before I left for the UK I went to meet Doug in the Zia. I told the waiter that I was meeting a good friend of mine. He sat me in this corner, and I started to read the paper. When I heard him come back I looked up to see Maria frantically trying to get the waiter to stop right there. “Isn’t that your friend?” He asked slightly confused by being pushed out the way as Maria ran from me. I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help myself; “oh no that’s not my friend,” I said through the giggles. “That’s the woman who seduced my girlfriend…” not a way to make friends if you ask me.
Now another phenomenon that confuses me is this we have a whole hobby built around the fascination of trains. That’s right. Trainspotters. In their anoraks they stand at the platforms in Birmingham, with the notebooks and flasks of sweet tea. Hobbies. Most kids seem to go through a stage of collecting things; whether its stamps, trains! Or Barbie dolls. What did I collect? Well.
The goose and firkin
The dog and duck
The flying spoon
Ths spotted dog
The frog and nightgown
The crab and gamboil
The bull and spectacles.
This is to mention but a few. Yes, it’s true, at the age of twelve I collected names of pubs. I even had a notebook that was alphabetically organized with the pub names and dates I went there. Ding dong. This is Derek, your train driver. I wanted to welcome you aboard the 9:30 train to Birmingham New street. We will be passing through Coventry and the national exhibition center.
Have you ever heard the British radio show called the Archers? It’s been on the air for over 50 years, a running soap set in a small village in northern England. It has a huge following. If you laughed at how we stop for tea at four o’clock, you would love this insider onformation. This is hidden ritual even more pervasive. The radio is tuned in at eleven fifty every day, or some people like Cate hold out for the omnibus edition on Sundays. Why am I telling you about this? It’s become my claim to fame… the young twins, Lilly and Freddy, are actually Thomas and Emily, my brothers kids! “really?” ask my friends… “oh yes,” I say as the doting aunt,” they had their first paycheck at three months old! Even did a book signing at age three, I suppose it was more of a book scribbling…”
Can’t complain!