Trains

I look utterly ridiculous every time I move on to the next family, friend and/or portion of England that I'm visiting. And this is because I always have to be wearing my biggest coat and my snow boots, no matter what the temperature...wearing them is more viable than packing them. I'm also generally in a train station. So I'm taking the wrong set of stairs or spending too long looking at a map because I'm the bumbling American. On top of that, I've got all my stuff. Now, you'd think that by this point I would have figured out a productive and convenient way to carry everything. Not the case. I have my enormous backpack on my back, which weighs too much and prevents me from fitting through the ticket barriers, the train doors and into bathroom stalls. In addition to that I have my average sized backpack that is my carry on luggage of sorts; it has my laptop and camera and books and friendship bracelet string and photo album and chargers and umbrella and socks in it. And just to make life difficult for myself, I also carry my purse. That means I have to have the big one on back, the little on the front and the purse wherever I can manage. I often lose circulation in my right arm from the weight of the big bag on my back, which makes it impossible to carry the little bags in that hand. If I do the waist strap on my big bag, I then buckle in my train tickets which I keep in my coat pockets. So when I get to the barrier the people behind me have to wait as I unbuckle, pull out tickets, drop something, get stuck, rebuckle, and then unbuckle again because I forgot to put my tickets back in my pocket. And the weight of my backpack usually pulls down my pants so I'm generally losing my drawers through all of this as well. And God forbid I ever have to pee while all this going on. It occurred to me today that I could put my wallet and tickets in the front pocket of my little backpack, pack the purse in my big one, avoid wearing scarves on travel days, wear my hair up instead of caught in my backpack straps and actually go through the handicap tickets barriers. Let's see if I remember at the end of the week.

Just to get from Colne to London today, I had to take one train from Colne to Leeds, in which I floored the ticket collector when he tripped over my bag buckle. Then from Leeds I took another train to London Kings Cross, on which I sat with the most interesting collection of people (more on that later). And then finally I faked an thick foreign accent in order to ask if I was heading the right direction on the tube from Kings Cross to Baker street, because admitting I was confused as a completely literate and moderately educated English speaker was just too much for my dignity. And people are so much more willing to help the lost French/Dutch/German/Russian/Mexican/Thai/Hawaiian/Ambiguous ethnicity girl than they are willing to help a daft American. The fake accent thing and the doe eyes have worked wonders for me. Let's not say I'm a liar...just imaginative.

So, the train from Leeds to London. I had an assigned seat which was naturally in the car furthest from the main station, so I had to parade with all my luggage to very end of the train. I managed to get on, glance at the man sitting next to me and then PTFO-ed. I never sleep soundly on trains and woke up with my face smashed against the window. But I'm pretty sure at some point during my fitful slumber I was sleeping on the shoulder of the business man sitting next to me. Also, while I had been sleeping, a giant had taken the seat across the aisle. The tallest man I've ever seen. He couldn't fit his legs in the seat space so he had them draped across the aisle. He tried folding them up when people were getting off but the passengers kept slamming luggage into his knees. I suggested he move up a row to the table and seat place and he said he tried but someone was storing their luggage there. So then, being the nosy American that I am, I just straight up asked him how tall he was. 6'11. And then he stopped talking to me and proceeded to eat an entire tin of scones and drink a pint of milk. 

The row in front of me had been lively the whole journey. It was a set of four seats, the kind where two pairs face one another and there is a table in between. In the two directly in front of me sat identical twin girls, age 3, wearing completely matching outfits, including wellies and coats and hats. They talked the entire time, and their dad, with the patience of a saint answered the question "Dadda, are we going to London?" a million times. Each. When I asked them their names they gave me the other twins name and their dad had to tell me who was actually who...or at least who he thought was who. When the 6'11 dairy king came on board both twins crawled under the table to their dad's side and I overheard  "Dadda, don't be scared now, but sitting over there is a real giant. Like jack in the beanstalk proper!"

The man next to me, my involuntary pillow and travel partner was wearing what looked like a perfectly tailored designer suit. He also had on one of those crystal bling Rolex's and was answering calls on two different iPhones. I know I'm nosy as heck, but I swear this was a conversation he had: "You get that three million through and you get it now. I'll be at the hotel at 8 and I don't intend to be waiting for dinner when I do. Get it done". And I was like damn son, somebody is somebody important. And I probably drooled on his £3000 suit...
But he wasn't that offended because halfway through our journey he told me he liked my iPhone case. It's a TARDIS case. I asked him if he was a fan. He just nodded and crossed his legs. In between tailor made trousers and shoes that would likely pay for a year of college, was a bright pink and black checkered sock. Big shot was a Doctor Who fan, his socks said it all. Small world, big TARDIS I guess. 

Having *conquered* the trains, I'm now in London. Who knows what kind of shenanigans I'll get up to.