Well, of course nothing dreadful happened, and I am still here to tell the tale.
Worse, it isn’t even a very interesting tale.
I will say that it was cold, terribly wet, and dark. Rain battered down as I staggered across the rusty railway footbridge, and by the time I reached the bus stop I was drenched, despite my macintosh.
The bus stop was the sort that comes with flickering neon lighting and a built-in gale force wind, whipping the litter into scattered corners whilst cars splashed past on the road. I was fifteen minutes early, which was wearisome, because of having run most of the way, and I had to wait. I curled myself into my macintosh on the dripping bench and tried not to look as though I ought to have a Costa Coffee cup at my feet for the purpose of collecting loose change.
There was nobody else there. I was alone apart from the occasional passing headlights
Eventually another couple turned up, mildly intoxicated and having some sort of argument, but they hung about the far side of the bus stop and ignored me, so I tried, politely, not to listen until the bus turned up.
It was the sort of bus which only has a downstairs, although I thought that probably it wouldn’t matter because of being too dark to see very much anyway, and the driver was quite astoundingly friendly. I find my own customer service skills begin to deteriorate considerably by the time we get to pub-kicking-out time, but this chap was jovial and pleasant and explained the intricacies of the payment machine very helpfully. He added that he liked doing the night shifts because everybody had gone home by then, an opinion with which I wholeheartedly concurred.
I sat beside one of the steamy windows and tried to see out into the rain, but without much success. The bus goes a very long way around, and so the journey seemed to take ages, but really I suppose it wasn’t much more than half an hour. Nobody else got on.
Eventually, of course, we chugged into Windermere, and I disembarked with relief, although the rain seemed to have renewed its vigour. I dragged the dogs out for a hasty late-night dash around the Library Gardens, and collapsed, steaming and dripping, next to the fire, which fortunately, fortunately I had lit before I left for work, so the house was wonderfully warm, and bright, and reassuring.
I had got so cold that my fingers were clumsy, and it took me a while to peel off my sodden clothes and shoes, which I arranged over the fire to dry. Then I crawled upstairs to thaw out in the shower.
This morning the world should have seemed brighter, but my spirits were further downcast by the continued torrential rain. I took the dogs over the fells, and then went to Booths.
Supermarket shopping is no fun at all when you are a wet pedestrian. Rain was trickling down my nose and the back of my neck. I only bought the things I knew I really needed, but all the same the bags seemed to weigh about forty pounds each, and I staggered home, lost in a damp mist of self-pity.
I do not in the least like being a pedestrian. When I get to be the sort of old lady about whom the children start to whisper that really I ought to think about giving up my car, I think I will have to shoot myself, or possibly them. Walking takes a very long time, public transport is full of other people and only there when it suits itself not me, and all of it leaves one shockingly exposed to the humorous mercies of the Weather Gods. I might add that they turned the rain off promptly as soon as I had reached the back door, replacing it with warmly benevolent sunshine for the rest of the day.
I got the train back to Kendal this afternoon to collect the car, which failed, by the way, and has to have an anti roll bar link added to its structure tomorrow. It also failed on the headlights being out of alignment, but I don’t care about that. Mark will set it in order.
The train was considerably more civilised, although more than double the price of the bus, but I was past that sort of trivial concern by then. I puffed and panted across the road and over the bridge to my taxi, my wonderful, marvellous taxi.
I am a pedestrian no longer.
I was feeling so very sorry for myself that I had half hoped that Mark might come back from his course and volunteer to take me out to dinner by way of recompense, but he didn’t, and so I am on the taxi rank, but I don’t mind.
I am in my taxi.
There can be no better place.
