When we board the train to Cardiff, my worst fears are realised. Somebody is sitting in our seats.
This might not seem such a great deal to you, dear reader, but I happened
to know that it would set Mr B off like an angry firework.
Mr B is a great believer in People's Rights. Foremost among which, according to his own list of unassailable entitlements is that if you book, in
advance, a seat on a train, it is your Absolute Right to turf out of said seat anyone with the temerity to sit therein.
I once, a long time ago, made the mistake of telling him that on a journey back home
from Cardiff, I had decided against attempting to dislodge a fellow passenger sitting in my booked seat on the grounds that she was surrounded by so many bags and baggage that it would have been counter-productive to my health and wellbeing even to try. Mr
B, despite not having been with me at the time and therefore unable to carry out a risk assessment of alternative courses of action, continually reminds me of my serious error of judgement.
I love the train
journey to Cardiff because every clattering mile brings me that little bit closer to my Little Welsh Boys and, of course, their Mum and Dad. Even apart from that, it is a very beautiful journey, my favourite parts being the White Horse galloping away on the
green hills above Westbury; the views from Bath Spa station of one of my favourite cities; and the way the train suddenly starts to travel in the opposite direction on leaving Bristol Temple Meads. This latter may amuse you but I always remember the first
time I made this journey and the sheer unexpectedness of finding myself facing forwards instead of backwards. When you are making a long journey, it is the enjoyment of the Random and the Unexpected that keeps you occupied.
The Darling Daughter in Law and I are in contact via our mobile phones as we need to coordinate our arrival and pick-up precisely if she is not to be late for the School Run. Which would never, never do. I may be joining her on the school run, or maybe
not, depending on whether it's raining or not. Nothing to do with my aversion to wet weather, but it might be better if I stay home in the dry with the Duracell Bunny. We wouldn't want his batteries getting rusty, now would we?
Tomorrow morning, we will be in the audience in the school hall to watch Young James's assembly. He was a bit worried when he heard we were coming because he wasn't sure, at that stage, what the topic for assembly would be. I reassured him that this
did not matter, I would enjoy it whatever it was about. "Even if it's about - poo?!" he wanted to know. There was no answer to that. I will be sure to tell you all about it in tomorrow's Daily Blog. Provided it is in no sense lavatorial.
School assembly is just one of the activities we have to look forward to, culminating in the Duracell Bunny's third birthday party. Our suitcase is packed with presents, cards and the mandatory recycled Birthday Banner. Oh,
yes, and a few clothes.
So, have we claimed our seats, I hear you ask. Indeed, we have. In fact, I decide to ask sweetly for the Nonconformist One to vacate our seats on the grounds that it must be better
than leaving the whole Eviction Process to a glowering Mr B. Profuse apologies are voiced which Mr B accepts (reasonably) gracefully. We settle ourselves down for the next three hours of train travel.
you sitting comfortably? Let the journey begin...