Except I’m no longer there.  I’m in London’s St. Pancras Station with approximately half of the world’s population.  As you can see, I’ve sat down in a “Priority Seat”.  I’m the guy with the cane.  And I feel no guilt.  Age has its privileges.

In my week plus in the United Kingdom, I’ve taken several trains and two buses.  The strangeness of advancing on the left side of the road is still with me, especially as a car passenger (“Where’s the steering wheel?”) and as a pedestrian.

While walking, I’ve crossed many streets where we’re to yield to vehicles.  The first white sign on the asphalt says “Look Right”.  Then there’s a little median followed by “Look Left”.  More than once, I’ve been crossing the second part when I hear a vehicle coming towards me from the right.  My Canadian brain keeps cringing in anticipation of my demise.  But I magically remain alive.

From survival instincts to the beauty of place names.  Those buses and trains have taken me to a long list of poetic locations.

Here goes …

Polegate, Glynde, Falmer, Hassocks, Haywards Heath, Blackfriars, Farringdon, East Croydon, Wivelsfield, White Horse, Telscombe Cliffs, Downs Road, Chyngton Lane, Hodcombe Farm, Beachy Head and The Goffs.  As my British friends are fond of saying … “Brilliant!”

***

What’s the truth?  I’m tired of writing.  So with two trains, a tram and a bus to go today, I’m ending this epistle.  I’ve had fun in the U.K. and it’s time to go home.

Until tomorrow then …

This is my favourite spot in Devonshire Park.  I’ve often sat in the shade over the past eight days, looking out over the practice courts and hearing the cheers from the main stadium.

Sometimes I’ve been joined on this out-of-the-way bench by fellow lovers of tennis.  We talk.

But today I wonder: Do I still love tennis?  There are moments, such as a back-and-forth rally of twenty shots, where each player draws the best from their opponent.  But mostly I feel more flat than vivid.  Perhaps the days of Centre Court heat have worn me out … physically and emotionally.  My passion for the game is leaking right now.

Cycling is the sport that thrills my heart today, especially since the Tour de France has started.  I love the colours of the riders’ kits as the peleton flows along.  And the breakaway that’s streaming up a 7% slope ahead of the big group.

***

Last night my friend and Airbnb host Jean accompanied me to a concert at the Eastbourne Bandstand.  A Neil Diamond look- and sound-alike was belting out the hits – Sweet Caroline, Cracklin’ Rosie, You Don’t Bring Me Flowers …  The last one wasn’t a “belting”.  It was a tender duet with Neil’s backup singer Harriet.

I sat next to an eight-year-old girl named Evie.  Her eyes were bright, she was funny, and she ran up to the dance floor to move and groove with a group of women.  I loved her on first sight.

My eyes softened as the evening proceeded.  How I wish that I had become a father, that I could have cheered on my daughter, that I would have heard the word “Daddy”.

Alas …

***

I leave Eastbourne today with a wistful smile

My friend Sue and I went to see a tribute show at the Eastbourne Bandstand last night.  U2 look-alikes graced the stage.  They didn’t grace my heart.

I don’t know their music.  Perhaps I lived in a cave in the 80’s.  I can’t remember.  “Bono” had lots of energy and a fine voice but I couldn’t understand most of the words.  The unfamiliar melodies were okay.

So … I had bought a ticket on the chance that a new and exciting musical experience would come my way.  That didn’t happen.  So how would I create a groovy evening?

I enjoy talking to Sue.  Her life is imbued with Spirit.  But the volume of the music meant that mostly I couldn’t hear her words either.

So what was left?  People-watching!  Of course.  We sat near the bar and there was a virtually constant stream of men coming and going.  Some flowed along but most were solid – stiff jaw and all that.  I wondered what their lives were like.

And then there were the U2 lovers.  Three women across from us knew the words and danced in their seats.  Later they were in front of the stage.  Their joy in the music was marvelous to see.

Across the way was a mom, a dad and a maybe ten-year-old son.  They danced and hugged and laughed.  Mom is in the photo, wearing pink.  You also see two crutches waving in the air.  That guy was having fun too!

***

A fine time was had by all … even me

It’s a matter of creating happiness

Notes from the day:

I’m sitting with my pizza and beer in a pub.  I’m watching cricket on the big screen.  Nearby are eight guys debating the quality of India and England.  I sit passively … unknowing.  It looks a bit like baseball but clearly it’s not.  “What are those people doing?”  I don’t know, and I decide not to interrupt my neighbours’ fervid concentration.

***

At breakfast I sat with two local women who were bemoaning the arrival of “foreigners” in Eastbourne.  “They could at least dress like us.”  Our café hosts were Albanian.  I mentioned how friendly they were  >  “They’re okay.”

Please give me inclusive rather than exclusive.  But despite our differences (they love Trump) we still managed to smile a lot.

***

I grew up in Toronto, where the Maple Leafs were the famous ice hockey team.  I was walking in downtown Eastbourne when I overheard “Are you going to the Leafs game?”  Huh?  Suddenly disoriented, I tried to remember that I was in England, not Canada.

Finally I realized the fellow had said “Leeds game”, referring to the football team of an English city of 600,000.  Ahh … the joys of enunciation.

***

I was in Centre Court at Devonshire Park this afternoon, hoping that the U.K.’s Emma Raducanu would beat Daria Kasatkina from Russia.  I wanted Emma to play Canada’s Leylah Fernandez in the final on Saturday.  It would be a rematch of the final of the 2021 US Open in New York City, which Emma won.  I was there that night.

I started noticing that Daria was dominating the contest.  More importantly I began watching how she moved.  It was almost a dance.  Her shots weren’t powerful but they were so well placed – often just beyond Emma’s reach.  Daria was an artist plying her trade.  And she won.

***

Leylah was playing this morning in a court  for which I didn’t have a ticket, and her match was sold out.  (Sigh)  On a whim, I showed up anyway and found an exterior winding staircase that on one of its turns offered a view of 3/4 of Leylah’s court.  I got to watch for half-an-hour.  Then I was kicked out because the stairs were a fire escape route.  (Sigh again)

But … I found an entrance gate to the court.  The volunteer lady let me stand there.  I got to watch the rest of the match.  And Leylah won!

***

Life works

And it’s awfully good stuff

Folks from here, there and perhaps everywhere.  I meet them in Eastbourne coffee shops, pubs and at Devonshire Park tennis.  Some names I remember.  Most I don’t.  I wish them all well.

1.  She’s a 79-year-old Brit who sat beside me today to watch Katie Boulter and Emma Raducanu win their matches.  She played on Centre Court decades ago.  Her husband died recently and she dearly misses their 48 years together.

2.  Bob joined me for coffee this morning on the patio of The Cappuccino.  He looked across the street at a now-closed cinema where he and his beloved cuddled so many years ago.  He called me “Bruce” countless times and repeatedly said he was delighted to meet me.  A big man with a big accent and a big heart.

3.  Fiona and Gary live near Eastbourne.  She talked a lot, he less … and the love they felt for each other was obvious.  Gary is in the wine business.  I asked if he had a free sample on him, but sadly no.  They’re heading to Vancouver in Canada soon to visit a loved one.  I told them not to miss low tide at Spanish Banks Beach.

4.  I had a lovely talk with a woman who knew little English.  So I ventured into my small history of speaking French.  She enjoyed l’attention française.  For me, newly initiated into the mysteries of learning Dutch, returning to French felt so strange.  Somehow the words of a third language flowed from my mouth.

5.  Another Devonshire neighbour was an Irish woman in her 30’s who could talk tennis “until the cows came home”.  Only after an hour or more did I find out that she was a physician – a general practitioner.  I asked how many years she had spent in medical studies.  Including two years in Internal Medicine training, the answer was … 14!  Wow.

***

So there you have it

Fine representatives of the human race

And I’m one of those too!

I was prepared for today.  Layers of sunscreen and a full water bottle.  If I was a wiser human being, I’d have worn a hat … but I hate hats!  Two out of three ain’t bad.

For breakfast I had smashed avocado on toast at Urban Ground, washed down with a delicious cappuccino.  Usually this is the time I take my three daily meds and some supplements, but I forgot.

Onto the tennis grounds, eager to see the first match.  Too eager.  I remembered the pills and tried to hurry their consumption.  The Omega 3 is a huge one.  I had learned (and now forgotten) not to take it first.  I took it first, with not enough water.  It stuck in my throat.

I kept drinking water but the nasty little guy was immobile.  Two voices chimed in:

1.  You’re fine.  Suck it up.

2.  You may not be fine.  Find some medical person.  Happily I chose Door #2, although my male ego was leaning the other way.

The event information fellow pointed me towards two uniformed guys.  They listened to my story and escorted me to the first aid office.  Four medical-type people turned their eyes and voices to me.  One gentleman suggested I eat little bits of my Powerbar with water.  Another said that my mind may be tricking me.  The pill may have dissolved partially in my throat and left the scene of the crime.  My brain may be saying it’s still there.

Ten minutes later the interior lump was gone.  Thank you, dear first aiders.

***

I watched two-and-a-half tennis matches in the unrelenting sun.  I slowly got dizzy and weak, despite remaining well hydrated and sunburn protected.  I was praying that Katie Boulter would win her match against Petra Martic in two sets rather than three.  She did.  And then I zoomed off to a shady bench.  Lots of folks were nearby, watching the action on a big screen TV while luxuriating in reclining chairs … in full sun!  “How are they doing that?  Why are they doing that?”

***

I’d had enough of tennis.  My legs were wobbly and my head fuzzy.  I needed to eat something for supper.  All my vacant mind could come up with was McDonald’s.  Such a sad choice.

My Big Mac didn’t go well with an irritated throat.  I did a wee vomit on the counter, and another on the street.  (Sigh)

I stumbled home to my Airbnb.  Hours later here I tap, thoroughly done with today.  Goodnight all you probably air conditioned folks.

Perhaps I’ll buy a hat tomorrow

There were two things I wanted today:

1.  To enjoy a day of tennis

2.  To be on the Zoom call with the Evolutionary Collective that I had agreed to be on

Finding a quiet place at a tennis tournament for a Zoom call is some task.  A nearby park would work, I reasoned, and yesterday I went searching online for such a thing.  I found one – near the ocean and away from traffic.  Plus it appeared to have benches … something necessary to keep the phone steady.

First thing this morning I did further research – on site.  A lovely bench welcomed me, nestled among trees.

Later in the day it indeed was my shady home for an hour.  As I did a practice with one of our EC members, she said “I hear Spanish in the background.”  Ah yes, the residents of the neighbouring bench.  Another partner saw palm fronds behind me.  “Where are you?”  Great fun.

Before the call, I was rising and falling with the tennis fortunes of Harriet Dart from the U.K. as she tussled with Marie Bouzkova from the Czech Republic in an epic three hour and twenty-nine minute match.  I left well before the end to make my Zoom connection.  I got to have both: feeling the fury of their competition and keeping my word.  Sweet.

***

Today I also watched a player I’d never experienced live – Jelena Ostapenko from Latvia.  Here she is in orange and blue:

Jelena is often grumpy on court and has a habit of not shaking her opponent’s hand if she loses.  So why do I like her?  Doesn’t sound like my type.  Simple … she hits just about every ball really hard, especially her backhand.  So little margin for error.  Sometimes she wins big and sometimes she loses big.  I love it.  (She won)

***

My day came to a rosy conclusion.  As daylight faded, I got to see my fellow Canadian Leylah Fernandez up close and personal, as she played Barbora Krejcikova from the Czech Republic.  Leylah was right in front of me, mouthing words and shaking her fist at herself.  So intense.  Such one-pointed concentration.  I cheered.  She won.  (Perhaps the two are connected)

***

The tennis ball got smashed a lot today.  Plus I held my head high in the heat of athletic battles and in being where I agreed to be.

It was good for life

I rode the Coaster bus this morning on the South Coast of England.  Seventy-four stops between Eastbourne and Brighton.  The cost?  Two pounds!  I was visiting Sue, a friend of a friend.

There’s Brighton in the picture, offering pebbly beaches and chalk cliffs.  I sat up way high in the bus, revelling in the panoramic views.

I also spent the trip wondering at the redness of my arms.  I’d spent five hours in the sun yesterday, cheering for my favourite tennis players.  I thought I’d been smart, bringing two full bottles of sunscreen to the U.K.  And I’d applied it liberally, again and again, to all exposed skin.  I’d used the same sunscreen for years … so why the red? 

On a hunch, I looked at the bottom of the bottle: “Exp. 07/2021”  O my God … the spray has been useless for three years!  Such a vacant mind I sometimes have.

But back to the good stuff …

Sue was there at my scheduled stop, smiling like she’d known me for a century.  She suggested we visit the nearby Royal Pavilion, built in the 1880’s by England’s Prince Regent, a young man who would one day be King George IV.  He hosted lavish parties for the rich and famous at the Pavilion.  A flaring ego with an obese body.  He sounded like a pompous ass to me.

Here George’s dining room.  Cozy.

In the massive kitchen stood a replica of a typical dinner party menu.  Here’s a portion:

I counted the number of foods in the entire menu – 119.  A volunteer said that the cooking staff had to have all the items available.  If Lady Macbeth wanted pheasant in truffle and wine sauce, that’s what she got.

Here’s Sue enjoying the opulence of another room:

We had many other adventures on the day.  Sue was a marvelous host.  But my eyes are sinking in the west.  So it’s time for sleep …

I wish you goodnight

Today was day one of qualifying for the Rothesay International tennis tournament in Eastbourne.  Twenty-four women were trying to get one of the six spots still available when the tournament starts on Monday.

The only ticket I could get today was a general grounds admission, which allowed me access to three courts with very little seating.

So … I got to be very close to the six women playing three matches on Court 12.  I saw the sweat and the stretching muscles.  I heard the huge exhales and “boing” of racquet against ball.  It was intense.

I marvelled at the line judges.  They loudly called “Out!” when the ball missed, sometimes incurring the wrath of the player who felt hard done by.  Once, seconds before the ball was to be served, a judge leapt from her chair, corralled an umbrella that had opened with the wind, and then scurried back … ready to make the next call.  What a willingness to act when there was a need.  What precise movements to get the job done.

I watched my favourite player in the world make a stirring comeback from one set down to take her match in 2 hours and 17 minutes.  Camila Osorio from Colombia.  Both her and Magdalena Frech from Poland hit many astounding shots.  After Camila had signed countless programs and big tennis balls, and taken lots of selfies, I made eye contact with her and simply said “Congratulations”.  Camila said “Thank you very much.” 

***

Tonight I was one of hundreds at the Eastbourne Bandstand.  We sang along with a Fleetwood Mac tribute band.  Well actually I hummed because I didn’t know the music.  Fleetwood and I have hardly known each other.  Here they are:

And then there was dancing.  I shook a leg or two.  Feel the vibe …

We had fun – we the audience and they the band.

***

I was dragging myself home an hour ago when I stumbled across a bar full of more singing and dancing folks.  Portugal beat Turkey 3-0 in Euro 2024 and it was time to celebrate:

***

And that is enough for one day …

The train is lulling me.  It’s time to rest.  My ten-day journey in England has begun.  I’ve worked hard in learning Dutch and re-learning the cello.  It’s worth a smile or several. 

Today four trains take me to Eastbourne, south of London.  A professional tennis tournament awaits.  Yay!  So does a lovely city on the English Channel.  On the beach sits a bandstand built in 1935.  During my stay I’ll be there three times watching tribute shows for Fleetwood Mac, U2 and Neil Diamond.  Yay again!

***

Now the Eurostar train from Brussels to London.  My seatmate is a young woman from Cologne, Germany … Anastasia.  Her immediate smile suggests that a conversation is coming.  And we talked for the whole two hours.

I know my stories, and Anastasia was interested.  But hers … Wow!  She’s dedicated to the person and music of Taylor Swift.  I told her that I had a general negative impression of Taylor.  But then I admitted I had nothing to base that on!  Just some stuff that a few people had said.

I don’t know her music.  I don’t know her lyrics (which Anastasia thinks are often amazing).  So how can I have any opinion about what Taylor brings to the world?  I vow to listen.

Anastasia is going to Taylor’s concert tonight at Wembley Stadium, along with about 90,000 other human beings.

And what’s she doing tomorrow night?  The same thing.  How about Sunday?  Ditto.

Some of her friends admire her courage: doing what she loves doing, and going to London alone.  Other friends think she’s crazy.  Anastasia doesn’t mind.  So emotionally strong for an 18-year-old.

We talked about life … and then we said goodbye.  She became one of many in St. Pancras Station.  It was time to find her Airbnb and dress up for the Taylor show.

***

For me it took two trains to get to Eastbourne from London.  I exited at East Croydon and looked for a pub.  Jean, my Airbnb host, wouldn’t be home till 5:30 and it was only 2:30.

I found Porter and Sorter.  I said hi to five local guys who were watching Euro 2024 – Ukraine vs. Slovakia.  Perfect.  A sports bar.  I sat with them.

I talked to the guy next to me about football, British beer, Belgian beer.  He and his friends didn’t seem to be cheering for one team or the other.  Their conversation was king.  I loved the talking … and I was yelling and clapping for Ukraine.  Two late goals gave them the victory.  Yes!

One of the fellows was Scottish.  I told him I couldn’t understand what he was saying, that I was learning Dutch and maybe I should add Scottish to my studies!  Laughs all around.

***

Now I’m in Jean’s apartment, sharing the space with Willow – a very young cat.  I’m sure we’ll be fast friends.

And then there’s tomorrow …