Kent


An unknown cousin, known only by name and reputation, had invited us to stay a night with him and his wife in Kent. So, dragging suitcases which seemed to get heavier by the minute (mine in particular, with a few books for giveaway gifts), we negotiated the UK train system and managed to get there.

kentIt must be said at this point that the UK train system is a miracle in itself. When they say 12.03 is the departure time, 12.03 it is; not 12.00 and definitely not 12.10. I knew this from past experience; their world stops for no one and it all works like clockwork. It’s fantastic.

So being the nervous type I hustled Basil along.  Bas, still coughing and spluttering and having attacks of feeling faint afterwards because he can’t seem to get rid of this wog that’s been dogging him.

We rushed out of the underground at Embankment, dragging our cases, and were confronted with a set of steps up into Charing Cross station that somehow rubbed the patina off such a romantic name. I forced Bas to take them on, with disastrous results ….. a coughing attack followed by a feeling faint attack and my having to drag both sets of cases up both sets of stairs.

I decided I wouldn’t mention that I discovered that if we had gone around the corner we could have got in without steps. Why cause a fuss? We got there, that was the main thing, and were soon ensconced on the train to Headcorn in Kent, watching amazingly gorgeous scenery whiz past at the rate of knots.

©jane grieve

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