I cannot fault British Rail! Or, at any rate, the version we have in East Anglia, which is called "One".
There is work on the line between Norwich and Diss and so the Norwich people have to be bused in. Diss is my nearest station (well, actually, it isn't quite, but the nearest is on a very slow line where you have to change at Ipswich so I don't use it). I picked up my pre-ordered ticket and spoke to the conductor as I toodled along the platform.
"This is the London train?" "This train is going to London, yes," he replied, more correctly. We grinned at each other. He was extremely handsome and a pleasure to grin at. Later, he came round to check tickets. I eyed him surreptitiously - he is a good fifteen years younger than I and I had no unwholesome thoughts. His name is Errol.
As I neared Liverpool Street, I went to the lavatory. I was rather dismayed to find a long, thin anaemic-looking turd floating in the bowl. Not that I haven't seen worse, but the next person in might think I'd done it - I could see it was a confirmed floater. Indeed, two more flushes didn't eliminate it. Fortunately, no one was waiting at the door when I left to lurch back to my seat. The train was going very fast and we arrived five minutes early.
Furthermore, the bus took less than fifteen minutes to get to Trafalgar Square, instead of the thirty-three suggested by the website.
The two painting that, for today, pleased me particularly were this and this. Neither reproduction is very clear, I'm afraid and you may have to go and see for yourself.
The monochrome one of the girl at the window - there is also a boy looking through the telescope but he is not easy to see - is beautiful and has been painted with great charm. I could spend a long time looking at it. There is a great deal of detail and I love the unassuming skill of the artist.
The children were enchanting. The cherubic one at the back looks so proud of his splendid uniform whilst the eldest has a more confident air of familiarity with his fine clothes. The little boy at the front is, regrettably, clutching a bird so hard that I'm afraid he is hurting it, but I adore his badly cut fringe that looks as if he hacked away at it himself with a penknife.
I hadn't seen El, Phil or my sister M since Christmas, and we were glad to see each other. An hour or two in the National Gallery, a good lunch and a wander round Covent Garden, then I came home. Again, the train was on time - a pity one has to remark on it when it should be unremarkable, but at least it can be said.
And dinner waiting for me. Mind you, I'd cooked all but the vegetables myself yesterday, but I was glad of the foresight.
It's my holier than thou Sunday tomorrow, to church at 7.30 to set up for the early service and then back at 10 to play the organ at 11. Have I practised? The answer, as ever, is no.
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Methinks the lady doth protest too much...Or should I say "she who denied it supplied it"...?
That remark will not be dignified with a response
but doesnt that qualify as a response to such remark, z? :)
nothing beats a train that leaves ontime...!
(i added your blog to my links list, i hope u do not mind!) - maggie
Maggie, everyone teases me and now you're starting.
I am the butt of all jokes. No pun intended.
And thank you. I've found you, but it took a little detective work...
I am thinking of you being holy right now, as I yawn with my coffee and fags at my PC... And wondering who would do a poo on a train...ew!
Sorry I haven't been commenting much - it's been on of THOSE weeks.
Coffee, orange juice, toast and marmalade at my Mac, right now, Wendz. I've done my first stint and am soon off again. Trouble is, everyone's so sociable and stays drinking coffee and chatting for ages afterwards, so I never get to the pub before lunch any more.
The pooer was probably mortified. It didn't quite look a healthy one, he or she couldn't help it.
Hope Sunday is a good one.
we have people complaining here all the time. and one of the pet subjects us trains and timings...every time i get a chance, i gove em a piece of my mind...in a country like india - imagine managing an entire railways network. and they think its funny!
oh, btw, am linking u - hope u do not mind.
What amuses me, when booking a train ticket in India, is that I have to fill in my age.
Thank you for linking to me. Of course I don't mind.
Oh z, that's just what my mother would say!
I was just teasing, I hope you're not offended.
I know you were. So was I, and I suspect you know that too...
is that amusing? now that u mention it, i think it is quite funny...never thought of it that way coz i thinkk we're so used to it...
we have a concession for people who are older than 60 years here - they call it 'senior citizen concession'...mebbe thats the reason.
Hm, could be - but 'are you over 60' would work just as well. It seems to be taken seriously, Indian friends booking a ticket for me have phoned to check my age!
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