The Song Remains the Same

I love it when a plan comes together, For all the weeks of schemeing though, a well laid plan never quells the nerves of getting to the station to catch that first train in time. Goodyes are never easy, but Laura made it easy for me and George just wanted my apple, so that was easily solved.

I can't remember the last time that I just sat and listened to music. The two hours to London passed rather too quickly, but it's a journey I always enjoy for it is a trip back down memory lane. The first stop, Diss is where I worked before joining the Royal Navy in 1989 and Ipswich is where I went to school. I'm sorry Norwich, though I'm happy to see you back in the Championship, I'm still blue and white despite 10 years in your 'Fine City.'

South of Ipswich comes Bentley, a village of childhood memories. Memories of owls nests found in rabbit holes, of Grass Snakes caught and taken home, only to be released again when we couldn't get them to eat anything. Of enormous fish caught in the little village pond, (not by me, I hasten to add,) and of times when you played outside all summer long. Maybe this three weeks is an attempt to recapture some of that. If it is and I succeed, I shall be doubly lucky and who'se to say that's a bad thing.

Transport for London provide a superb website for cyclists. If you're planning to cross London with a bike, I recommend that you go to their website and plug in whatever your route is...with a bike. It was the Lierpool Street to Paddington route that I followed this morning and it was staright forward and well signposted and much of it on designated cycle tracks. Many of these are protected by curbs on both sides, so there is no danger of being run over except by the regular cycle commuters who know thir route and travel as fast as the cars. Probably faster and good luck to them.

At Paddington I grabbed some lunch and whilst eating noticed that the front panniers had slipped in their mountings. Determined to get into the habit of fixing even the slightest problem immediately, I set to and remounted them, taking the front wheel off in the middle of the station to accomplish the job.

At the gate to the platform the fast food bag of a fellow traveller spewed hot carrot soup out onto the concourse, giving a new meaning to a sick bag, and left the distraught lady trying to work out how to rescue what looked like turning out to be a disasterous day for her. Her black slacks looking somewhat less business like with the vegeatble accompaniment.

Now on the verey busy Penzance train, I have two seats to myself. I can sit back and listen to 'The Song Remains the Same.' Nostalgic! Really?