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 …