Well hello there again, loyal readers. I am rather chuffed
with myself that the time gap between my previous post and this one hasn't been
witheringly long! This time, Mother and I took our second trip to Barcelona for
some business and other things and after the ten hour journey by car we had to
endure last time, I persuaded Mother that literally ANY other form of transport
would be an improvement. Naturally, I
was thinking of a 45 minute plane journey. As are you, probably.
Unsurprisingly, Mother booked a 6 hour train journey instead.
I myself have no problem with early starts, so long as they
are for a good reason. Anything that comes under the bracket of 'holiday' is a
good enough reason for a 4:45am alarm. Mother has the 'grumpy in the mornings'
stereotype down to a T but manages to dress herself (again, not in the
appropriate traveling attire but in diamante pumps). Equipped with our luggage
and food for the journey (YES! I eventually managed to persuade Mother to pack
homemade sandwiches?! Very pleased with myself) we head on our way to the train
station.
Mother has a strictly timed schedule so we don't miss the train;
I jump out of the car before we park, grab the large suitcase and power-walk to
the station's entrance whilst Mother parks the car and runs (haha) to meet me
before boarding. In theory, this is sensible as it means I get a head start
with the heavy case. However, in reality, it means that I end up waiting at the
station for quite a while as I spot a figure stumbling slowly in my direction.
Mother did not anticipate the difficulty of a morning run in diamante pumps.
We are now in our seats on the train, preparing ourselves
for the 6 hour journey (what are we going to do for six hours?!). Mother is
already seated by the window and is
holding up her Chanel compact for shiny-face-checks (post-run worries, obviously)
whilst I try desperately to haul the large suitcase onto the overhead rack. I
am quite petite and perhaps my strength lies in my mind and soul, rather than
in my little arms. I feel a prod;
"Stop!
Look, look... wait for..."
Mother's eyes are not-so-subtly squinting (and
winking) from me to the young man sitting on the other side of the aisle. As I
turn to look at him, he kindly stands up and gestures to help me. With one swoop he gently places the case
above our heads, smiles and retreats back to his movie. Mother does not wish to
retreat in a similar fashion and instead leans over me, waves at the young man
until she catches his attention and dramatically mouths "Thank you!"
with a broad smile. She then turns to me and mouths again;
"Can we switch
places, darling?"
Having settled into our journey for a couple of hours, we
decide to read a couple of my old blog posts to pass the time. We are halfway
through one about a previous flight experience and suddenly Mother exclaims;
"DARLING! WE'RE GOING UP! We're
flying!! Are we flying? Look! The front of the carriage is lifting, can you
feel that?! Look, can't you see that? The tops of the seats... look! They're
rising!"
"Nope. We are most definitely still on a train. Still
on train tracks. Definitely not in the sky, sorry."
Mother ignores me and proceeds to cry out;
"BUT I CAN FEEL THE FLATULENCE!!!"
".... urm...?"
"Oh. No. No, wait. No, I don't think- TURBULENCE! I meant turbulence, darling! Hahahahaha!"
The next twenty minutes are spent composing ourselves.
As we enter the second half of the journey, Mother tells me
she is going off in pursuit of the restaurant. I had to inform her for the
third time that it is unlikely she'll find a restaurant on this train but she
insists she's going to have as close an experience to the Orient Express as
possible. After telling her the bar is
in the first carriage and asking for some hot water (for my peppermint tea...
which either makes me a grandma or very new-age and health-conscious), she
clambers over me and I'm left to read my book in peace. Not for long enough
though, as I can hear her jangling jewellery making it's way back down the
train and into our carriage.
"I didn't get you any agua caliente, darling, because I wanted you to get it yourself so
you can meet Leon! I've told him you'll be coming along any moment so he's
expecting you!" Great.
Of course. She's made a friend. I should have prepared myself.
"Now, sweetie, when you go, don't just lower your head
and speed through. Embrace the scenes in each carriage! Do you know, darling,
they must have put perfume through the air conditioning in the carriage ahead
of us, it smells gorgeous! Anyway, Leon..."
Mother then educates me on each groomed facial feature of
Leon, possibly so I don't miss him. The fact that there will only be one bar
attendant clearly didn't enter her mind. Also, upon my meeting Leon, I notice
that - yes, he is very well groomed. He is also very gay. And very young. I
frequently have the task of breaking the news of gentlemen's ages to Mother as
I fear she may pounce at any given moment. Much of the time, age still does not
discourage her.
Back in the safety of my seat with my tea and trying to
position myself to be able to watch the movie the man over the aisle is playing
(subtitles are useful after all) I notice the tranquility of our carriage. Compared
to the disasters of the UK's national railway, Spain has provided a pleasant traveling experience, complete with headphones and TV screens for passengers.
Each passenger is silent, no phone conversations, no pungent KFC buckets
rolling around the floor.
The carriage was totally silent. Except, suddenly, for the
mini-explosion coming from my right as Mother bursts open her bottle of Cava
(smuggled on board, not to my prior knowledge). I jump and turn to glare at her,
along with several other passengers who are disturbed by the bang, as Mother
smiles back at me and proffers the bottle towards me.
"No thank you, Mother. It's 09:53am. Can you pass me
the water please?"
"I didn't bring any water, darling?!"
"What? Wait, so... you're saying... you didn't remember
to bring the water bottles?!"
"Water? No! I remembered the Cava though, didn't I
darling!"
xoxo
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