23 May 2014: Auckland to Buxton sans hat

Oh dear. A blank bloggy page. Such a long time since I did this but tis important to keep the waiting world appraised of my travels. Or maybe apprised. I never know which. One seems something like a word that a real estate agent would use (as opposed to the artificial estate agents, but I digress already), and the other like something jammed in a door. I will go with the agency one.

I climbed aboard the silver bird on high last night in Auckland and oh joy was upgraded to premium economy, which mean I could stretch my not very long legs right to the back of the seat in front. I did not sit next to a large person, nor a smelly one, and watched The Book Thief (cried only twice) and a Sherlock episode.  I can't believe someone will want to know this, but apparently the world is so large that somewhere in the world someone will, so I am telling you now. Is it you?

I attach a photo of my adventure. Unfortunately I forgot to take a photo of my seat, so here is one of a forest at Raglan instead, just next to Mr and Mrs Blue's house, aka Lynne and Mike. Mike can play the guitar. He is very famous in Raglan, and Lynne can sing and play the flute. She is also famous. If you know them say hello from me.  Oh - that was exciting - I just got the photo to move to the left of the page, but every time I write something it slips down a little. Bother.

Oh - just worked out how to write below a line. You have to put the line in first.

I am in the Koru lounge at LAX, which is travel-speak for The American airport on the west coast of the US of A that everyone has to go through to get anywhere useful.  Life aboard the plane was pleasant enough, but on arrival at the US of A we were greeted by A Cathay Pacific girl wearing an Air NZ uniform, which was very confusing. I asked her what to do next, as usually we are just told what to do in the US of A, but this time we were all left to our own devices (all puns intended). It was frightening. There were two queues everywhere I looked, and lots of fierce looking people of all weird shapes and sizes. I joined one queue, then another, the changed my mind, and eventually found myself getting my pisspot stamped and welcomed to the US of A. Too late I thought, but pressed on to have my laptop and shoes inspected, my body photographed (they were not satisfied with my finger and thumb prints, and eye photos), and then my money pouch inspected. I admit, I do look a little like a spy/national threat/sweet little old lady.  A nice couple of Maori girls led the way. They were easy to follow as there are not a lot of Maoris here, and they had ample bottoms, but not unattractively so.

It is raining in London apparently. This is not good news, and I have to collect a very small car (providing I can provide all the right paperwork, which is always a worry), plug in Francoise my French GPS, and navigate to Sally and Jacques Hilton at Hove. Wish me luck. More later.

There aren't many people here - I had better go. Something is not right I fear.....

7th May: Accrington to York to Lancaster

Breakfast was nestled amongst a collection of plastic flowers and scenes depicting English country sports, but the toast was hot, the eggs yellow, and the marmalade suitably sticky. I like the way the English offer marmalade in little jars, and I always want to nick them. I restrained myself and ate it instead. I ordered tea, not having sufficient faith in the landlady’s ability to make coffee. The tea was excellent, so I felt I had made a good choice. Anyway, I could get coffee on the train.

I was glad of the wheels on my suitcases, and tugged them back to the station to take a train to York, to see my good friend Deb. As you can see in the photo, she is very attractive. She said York had a nice little kirk which we could explore it together. When I got off the train I was surprised to find her standing next to me on the platform. I don’t know how she does things like that, but then she has always been quite clever. She bought coffee, I gave her a tee shirt with musical hamsters on it, and she gave me a jar of home-made ‘dam sloe gin jam’. At her request, I also gave her a kilogram of Atomic Coffee beans, there being no decent coffee in England. I don't know how the English get by, honestly, although now I think about it, my brother always drinks tea (he thinks he's English). We headed off into town, dragging the cases behind us, exploring the beautiful narrow streets of York and York Minster (not the streets therein) , before settling in a church yard for a catch up. I suspect the church custodian had taken a fancy to Deb, as he followed us around, and asked us to move from our position under a tree so he could attend to a bird house in its foliage. Of course we weren’t fooled by this – it was clear that he wanted us to move for other possibly nefarious reasons. In due course it all became clear however, when he asked us about Australia, as he had cousins or something here – I forget the details. I always lose interest when people think I am from Australian. Some people just have no class.

York Minster is a bit of a high Gothic sort of kirk – some bits were built in 1220 which is actually before my family arrived in New Zealand, and well before my boss said I could go to the UK, so as you can see, it’s quite old. There are lots of important people buried there and we admired their tombs while perched on a heater and discussed the kinds of things that need to be discussed between friends who have been estranged. The toilets were very good as well, so it was worth the visit.

Deb bought me a wonderful lunch and we sat in the street watching passers-by and talking more. We took photos of each other to prove we had been there, and went to a pub for a gin and beer, and took photos of ourselves in the mirror to show we take an interest in our appearance. She saw me orf in good time to catch my train to Lancashire, and I felt sad to leave her. Deb has been a good friend for many years and I miss her, as do many of my folkie friends. Herumph (raises eyebrows so as not to appear sad).

I like the British trains. They run on time and the seats are comfortable. Also, someone trundles along the aisle with tea and coffee and stuff just like in an English office or hospital. I usually amused myself by writing postcards or transferring the photos on my mobile phone to my PDA, for later downloading on to my laptop. Once I got out my laptop and plugged it in on the train, just to get my money’s worth from the plug. Travel made me dirty and sweaty so I tried to clean up before my outlaws collected me but it’s hard to get clean in a British Rail toilet. At least I didn’t flush in the station.

I was met in Lancaster by Neil’s father, (i.e. Annie’s and Rosie’s grandfather) and his son, my brother-outlaw. I recognised them immediately and it was wonderful to see them after such a long absence, and we hugged enthusiastically. They drove me back to their house at Brookhouse near Lancaster, and we drank tea and talked. As you have probably noticed, this is turning out to be a talking tour of Britain, which is not a bad thing I guess, and more or less everything you would expect of a Gemini. I had not seen them since Annie and Rosie were quite small, and as they are now well over 20, I guess I have not seen them for around 20 years. They looked pretty good to me, and if I looked a lot older, they were too polite to say so. Once when my mother collected me from Christchurch airport after a long stay away, she said ‘oh – I suppose we look older too!’ Neil’s parents are definitely more diplomatic.

Preparing to travel

It's hard to believe anyone will actually read this, but I'll put photos up to make it worthwhile. It's mostly for my boss so she knows where I am, honest, but I'm running a few days behind.
In case you manage to read this first, I advise starting at the beginning, particularly as the end hasn't been written yet. And in case you found this by mistake, this is the travel diary of my recent trip from Auckland New Zealand, through Thailand to London, Bristol, Lancashire, York, and up to Forres, Edinburgh, then to Glasgow for a conference, before returning home via Hong Kong. Phew. No wonder my legs hurt.