Sundae's Christmas trip to London.

[glatt]

These are all awesome!

[Carruthers]

Yesterday, being Boxing Day, saw the start of what used to be known as the January Sales and TV news reports showed scenes of crowded shopping streets in various parts of London.

I suggested to Sundae that she might like to consider the possibility of the Tube being crowded and give some thought to setting off for the mainline station in good time.

Well, I got that one wrong, didn't I?



Sundae's crowded carriage.

[Carruthers]

King's Cross Station. One of three major London termini serving Northern England and Scotland.

Sundae has arrived at Leeds and is having a restorative cup of tea before embarking on the final leg of her journey.

[Griff]

Beautiful pics!

[zippyt]

That looks Fun !!!!

[xoxoxoBruce]

Originally Posted by Carruthers

Well, I got that one wrong, didn't I?

Well yes, and no. It turned out not to be a problem, but as always you were thinking ahead, looking out for her best interest.
Could I interest you in a job with the US secret Service? But I suppose the Honorable Corps of Gentlemen at Arms, has first dibs, if Limey doesn't tap you for MI6.

[Carruthers]

Actually, getting to King's Cross very early paid dividends.
Sundae was able to travel on an earlier train, which had been delayed, and arrived in Leeds about an earlier than was originally planned.
The final stretch of her journey by bus wasn't without complication as floods caused the route to be diverted and traffic was heavy.

Thanks for the job offer with the Secret Service.
Unfortunately, I don't think that I could carry off the 'shades and crew cut' look.

[xoxoxoBruce]

That's why you'd do well, the baddies wouldn't suspect you were on duty, but you have to keep your hands at waist level all the time.

[Carruthers]

Unable to edit but post #37 should read ...

'...and arrived in Leeds about an hour earlier than was originally planned'.

Apologies.

[xoxoxoBruce]

It's OK, we knew what to meant, just not precisely.

[Sundae]

I've been meaning to update this thread, but haven't managed it until now for one reason or another. And only one of those reasons was post-Christmas ennui.

Without wanting to be awarded the Order of the Brown Nose, I want to thank Carruthers for the sterling work he did in posting my photos and updates. He really is a wonder, and I'm lucky to have him in my life. And what's more, I know he enjoyed doing it too, which adds to the wonder and leeches away any guilt. Thank you.

So the story starts, as all of my stories do, "I was a little late getting away" (Larkin ref, doncha know) but I'd built in plenty of potential delays, so that was fine.
Overpacked. O.M.G. Overpacked to the max. Paris Hilton couldn't have overpacked more than me. But I had no porters, (at least to start with) and she probably wouldn't have been toting 100 Tiny Prizes for her parents.

Lumped and bumped my case and bag down two flights of stairs. The flat below me is unoccupied and there was no-one in the office on the ground floor at that time. There was no-one alive in the world at that time.

On my short drag to the bus station (check it out on Google Maps - I can hear the buses reversing on quiet nights) I realised the whole journey was untenable for one person and this amount of luggage. But hey - I didn't go through sicking up blood to give in over a journey. I was tena lady. In a different way than what had happened a fortnight before.

On the bus. Downstairs, which is not really my thing, but if I'd gone upstairs I'd have been back in hospital. Driver let me off at the closest stop to the station (still too far away). I'd decided to travel to Leeds by train on the advice of someone I know, because I was concerned about crossing Leeds with what I knew would be a large suitcase. This way I came into Leeds station and could put my bags in storage while I bought anything I'd forgotten or left behind, in the shops.

Menston station is lovely. Little dinky thing. Awww. Until you realise it has no disabled access. So no lifts, no way to get a VERY HEAVY case and bag up the steps, across the bridge and down to the far platform.
I was lucky. All the way through my journey. A tiny, tiny, lithe little 20-something took my bag off me, and not to run away laughing either. She pretty much ran up the stairs, and even came back to ask if she could help as I manhandled my suitcase over the same assault course.

The conductor helped me onto and off the train, and called a porter, who brought me a trolley, and I was finally free of the cumbersome luggage, and frolicked in Leeds for about an hour.

Another porter got me onto the train. Blessed I tell thee. Blessed.

[Sundae]

On the train. In the Quiet Carriage (seat booking thanks to my wonderful bro).
I went to the Buffet Car and bought tea and biccies, and got two chocs free.

Merry Christmas!

[Sundae]

Came into Kings Cross/ St Pancras and managed to find my way to a lift.
Well done Kings Cross! Hassle free access.

Except... except...
Well I will always defend the Tube - I think it's the best form of public transport in the world. But there are a lot of steps up and down. Lifts and escalators notwithstanding, the stations are old, they're deep and there are steps.

So by the time I got down to the Northern Line - bump, bump bump - I was hot, tired and grumpy.
And y'all know I have problems with travel these days, even in London which was my home for years. Even on the Tube, where the map is a marvel of simplicity - thank you Mr Beck.
So it took me about three minutes to work out I had to travel back to Euston before I could travel on to Charing Cross. Three minutes? Yes. I'm trying to be realistic. And three minutes is a very long time when you are an overweight, overburdened, confused tourist in a capital city and are trying not to cry. There are times when I regret the passing of my lissome youth, when people rushed to assist me.

Anyway, By the time I realised the route I had to take, I was over my confusion and potential tears, another train had decanted, and a lovely young woman (black, sporty, 20's) was hauling my case up the steps for me.

I got to Charing Cross with only a few more sets of steps I had to negotiate - young ginger man with a bushy beard which would have annoyed my Dad and a man I suspect may have been homeless.

I walked down the Strand feeling absolutely wretched.
I had blisters all over the soles of me feet - I couldn't walk easily for the whole Christmas period.
I'd blistered my hands, pulling my case and holding my bag in place.
What? I blister easily.
I was literally walking on blood by the time I got to the hotel, but I could see it pretty much from the Tube station, so I didn't sit down and cry. Yay me. Just stopped every ten steps and switched hands, so both ended up in the same condition... Meh.

My manky big toe, taken this Sunday.
The final remaining injury.

[Sundae]

I called Mum from my room.
That was the first Dad knew that I was joining them. Mum had kept it from him because she hadn't wanted a row about me sponging off them. He simply accepted it, as if it was always part of the plan (it was) that he had simply forgotten. It helps to be crafty sometimes - Mum's choice in this case, but it worked.

I had a bath.
I had a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful bath. One which I could get out of and not shiver, not worry about whether the towels were clean, not stress about stepping on birdfood (it gets everywhere).
Lovely.


I shaved everything below the waist too - nice to be hygienic and it lasts such a long time with my retarded hair growth. Oh, and my pits, although I can manage those at home. I then had to have a shower!

Off to see Ma and Pa - we met up in the lobby area.

[Sundae]

We went to Sophie's Steakhouse in Covent Garden for our Christmas Eve meal, as detailed in the What's For Dinner thread.

Had a great time, all jolly and happy and laughy.
We sat and chatted for a while, then when Mum told Dad off for starting to change into his pyjamas in front of me, I thought it best to beat a retreat. I had prizes to wrap anyway.

I thought it was bad enough dragging them across London, but I swear they multiplied as I wrapped them. It was like the Sorcerer's Apprentice with presents instead of brooms. No matter how many I wrapped, there were more and still more... Funnily enough, the next morning they all seemed to disappear and I was surprised at how few I'd actually bought.

So. Next morning.
I'd talked it through with them and we agreed that it was better if we all breakfasted together and got ready, THEN opened presents. I wanted everything to be as comfortable for them as possible, so my idea of knocking on their door and surprising them while in their nightclothes was shelved. I am sensible sometimes, see?

Photos from Christmas morning.
Mum and Dad were very happy with the prizes. Mum said, "Wow, if we'd stayed at home [Aylesbury] we'd only have got one each!" She was right, really. It was the sense of occasion which inspired me. But the sad side of that is Mum planned this knowing that it's only going to be downhill from here with Dad. So doing my small part to make it special was because of that.

Funnily enough, I got something through the post from Mum today. She's used one of the personalised stickers I'd bought her to seal the envelope, and a piece of the notepaper to write on. She probably will use the former more frequently than the latter, as it has my photo on it and the words, "My lovely daughter bought me this."
Self-promoting? Me?

We toasted eachother with Cava and orange juice (I was given the Cava as a gift - I'd have bought a cheapo bottle of Bucks Fizz from the supermarket otherwise) and readied ourselves for the trip down the Thames.

Oh yes, and somewhere in there I squeezed in another bath.