I'm Back - but not for long!

Sorry about the gap, but my friend has no Internet connection and it took me until the day before I left to discover that Steyning (pronounced Stenning) actually does have a Wifi Cafe -- too late for this time, but good information for future trips there.

So much to catch up on, so little time!

I've added a slide show to this page and will continue to add photos as and when I can, but you should know that there are now Sabbatical files of photos on my Flickr page. It took me a while to discover how to add them with titles rather than one at a time, and I also had to upgrade my account so they could all go there, but if you're interested in any one part (or all) you can go there and even have a slide show of just the area that appeals. You'll find me here My knitting's there as well, that's why I suggested you can check out the Sabbatical files. It even accepted my little video files from Inner Farne, so you can see the puffins in motion and hear the racket the birds make!

When I last "saw" you, I was happily riding the National Express train to London, enjoying the free Wifi, and not concerned with making my transfer to the cross country train that would take me to Shoreham By Sea, Sussex (not to be confused with Shoreham, Kent). My information, provided by the rail people themselves, printed for me by a delightful young woman in Berwick Upon Tweed (That's pronounced like an army barrack.) It suggested that it would take me 11 minutes to go from King's Cross Station to Victoria Station. No problem, since I had just over an hour between trains. Of course, things had obviously been going too well for me, so I should have known ... but I arrived at King's Cross (right on time) to discover that the Victoria Underground Line was being repaired or maintained or something, and was closed for the entire weekend. That meant that I had to take the Circle Line -- and there were 15 stops between me and Victoria Station. I watched the clock ticking and began being thankful that there were other, less convenient trains to Shoreham By Sea. But, we made it to Victoria with less than 10 minutes to spare.

Of course, we arrived at the Underground Station and had to hustle through Victoria to the Rail Station - not a problem ... but of course, we arrived in the rail station at Platform 1 and the train to Shoreham left from .... Platform 17! Not only were the platforms beyond 7 not in a straight line, I had to go around a corner, and keep jogging down and to the right ... and the clock was ticking ... Made it to Platform 17 to be told that in order to get to the part of the train that actually went to Shoreham (train divides in Haywards Heath, don't you know) I needed to keep jogging to the front four coaches -- that's past more than half a dozen other ones. I was praying that they wouldn't pull out when they could see me trundling my suitcase down the platform - but one never knows! I made it to one of the approved cars, got in, ditched the case, found a seat, settled, and the train started moving. But it didn't matter, I was on.

I thought it might be wise to check with another passenger to verify I was in the right car -- but the first one I asked had no idea (they were leaving the train before then). The second woman I asked looked at me strangely. I repeated my question. She stared, and then she smiled and said, "You're on the right train." And when she spoke I realised why she stared - she was hearing impaired and trying to figure out what the foreigner was asking! (And when those trains start up, hearing is difficult without any other challenges thrown in!) It was just as well that I asked her because the conductor never did make it to our car. But I did arrive in Shoreham (Sussex, not Kent), in good time. In fact, I was early enough that I could get a cup of tea and sit in the sun while waiting for my friend. And, there in Shoreham, little seaside resort with a tiny train station, I not only got an excellent cup of tea, but an excellent cup of Lady Grey tea! My absolute favourite!!! Wonderful!

So when my friend came scouting to see if the train had arrived, she found me sitting in the sun, my case at my side, sipping tea and enjoying the scenery and watching all the sunburned holiday makers hustling to and fro.

On our way to the car we passed a yarn shop, a real yarn shop, not one with a small corner given over to yarn, and I was promised that we would indeed return so that I could visit. But at that point our priority was to claim the car and head home.