Today’s guest picture comes from my Welsh correspondent Keiron. He paused on a recent cycle ride to look back at the M4 flyover at Briton Ferry.
I am back at my computer again after returning from the south, but the post will be short as we have been busy.
After breakfast, we got a lift to the station at Marlow from Mrs Tootlepedal’s brother and his wife, having had a most satisfactory visit filled with family reminiscences prompted by thinking about their mother, and sorting out some of of the many things she has left behind her.
The journey to London from Marlow went well, and after diving down into the underground system at Paddington Station, the family connections continued as we met my sisters Susan and Mary for a light lunch on Euston Station. We were were delighted to be joined by our granddaughter Evie and her parents Annie and Joe. It was all a bit too much for Evie who after greeting us warmly, fell asleep for the rest of the meal.
Feeling very cheerful after this meeting, we parted from the rest of the lunch party and went down to the station concourse to check on the platform for our train. What train? Our train to Glasgow, stopping at Carlisle, had disappeared and been replaced by a train which stopped at Preston, 90 miles short of where we wanted to go. We caught it anyway, and stopped at Preston. We were advised that if we waited for an hour, another train would come along and this would go as far as Carlisle before it stopped. (People who wanted to got Glasgow would have to catch a bus).
We spent an hour at the station idly looking around . . .
. . . and luckily managed to find a couple of seats on a very full train which did actually get as far as Carlisle. I took a picture of an impressive cloudscape out of the window as we went up to Shap summit.
The second train was good as far as it went, which was Carlisle, but our return to Langholm was likely to be hampered by the fact that the last bus of the day was going to leave Carlisle half an hour before we got there.
At this point, the hero of the day made a welcome appearance. Dropscone, having being telephoned from Preston, had very kindly driven to Carlisle and was waiting at the station in his car to give us a lift home. He is always a welcome sight, but sometimes he is even more welcome than others. This was one of those occasions. He even stopped to let me buy some milk on the way home.
After four different overground train journeys, two underground train trips, and a drive, it felt like quite a long day. Luckily the weather was good throughout which made things cheerier than they might have been.
The garden seems to have survived our absence very well . . .
. . . though the peckers had been hard at work behind our backs.
There is no flying bird today, but I will fill the feeder tomorrow morning, and I hope that the birds will be keeping an eye for fresh seed.
It is good to be home.