Arriving at the airport at 1.30 I wonder about this large suitcase, it was too heavy for  me to lift and put on the scales at home so I am positive it's going to be overweight.  The girl at the check-in desk asks all the usual questions, how many are travelling?  Just me.  How  many bags are you checking in?  Just one, rather large and heavy. Did you pack your own luggage?  Yes.  Has anyone else had access to your luggage?  No.  Ok, let's try and lift this thing on to the scale/conveyor belt.  Yep, as I thought, it's over the 20kg limit by 10kg....how much extra is this going to cost?  Waiting with baited breath, I watch as she puts labels on the case, stamps whatever it is she is obliged to stamp and off goes my case into that black hole that cases disappear into and, with a spattering of good management and a lot of luck, find themselves arriving in exactly the same place as you at the end of your journey. Whew, that was a lucky escape, I must be amongst the first to check in, it  went through at no extra cost.  By time I'm checked in, John and Iris have arrived to see me off, or were they just making sure I actually went.  Matt found a good reason to have a beer, well someone had to have one with me didn't they and Shaz was going straight to softball from the airport, so no booze for her, poor girl.    Final goodbyes are said and I disappear into that black hole that all travellers disappear into at airports around the world.  Now the fun starts, what am I wearing that will set off the alarm?  Nothing... the eyelets on the boots and belt mustn't be real metal after all.  Wandering around the shopping area I am trying to locate the TRS (Traveller Refund Scheme) to claim back the GST on my new camera.  That's funny, I remember dad and Iris wandering around Downtown Duty free while I was claiming the GST on the video camera  we bought 3 years ago, what have they done with the counter?   Asking an official I find they have moved it downstairs and I will have to go back out past security and then check through again, damn, bet the belt goes off this time.
While claiming my GST the guy asked about my trip and was I going to have some fun with the Poms about the cricket, daft question.   He turned the tv on, shocking reception, talk about ghosts, these apparitions looked human, anyone would think there were 22 guys in the field and 4 guys at bat.  Back through security, again no problems.  Time now for a wander around the shops, a PA announcement informs us that the plane has been delayed, ok, more wandering, keep the credit card in the purse though, it's a shoppers heaven up here.  Another announcement at 3.30 confirms the flight will be delayed by approximately 1 hour, great, now I'm going to have to do the 2 minute mile to get through Singapore Airport.

It's now 5.05pm and we are finally in the air.  The plane has a few Christmas decorations      and Christmas music is being played for the ascent.  As the Perth city skyline comes into view, the lady behind me tells her little girl (about 5 yrs old) to say goodbye to Perth and Marion.  A little voice pipes up with "bye bye Marion, see you next week", which drew a few smiles on the faces of the people I could see, but I'm sure there were others smiling at this and thinking, "wouldn't it be nice if you could see her next week."  The flight progresses very smoothly and I attempt to watch a movie, "Haunted House" in the kids selection, I've seen the previews of this movie many times and now here's my opportunity to finally watch it, not.  I fell asleep. Oh well, it's a 5 hour flight and I'll watch it after I've eaten, but again, sleep overtook my ambition to be an avid movie watcher.  I got chatting to the guy next to me.  He was returning home to Sri Lanka for a 2 week visit with family.  It turned out that he had been working at Fremantle Hospital for the last 4 years under the supervision of one Dr Roger Clarnette, a name familiar  to those of us that work in the aged care system in Perth.  I remember Roger as a registrar about 18 years ago.  It is a small world after all.  We are now making the descent into Singapore with more Christmas music being piped through the plane.  10pm and I am off the plane and making the quick dash through the airport for check in at 10.30, just enough time to stop for a quick sip of water, forget the cuppa, that isn't going to happen.  The flight from Singapore left on time at 11.20 and we had a very smooth flight until somewhere around Karachi when turbulence had us bouncing around in the air like a kite on a slightly windy day.  A couple of minutes pass and we are through the air stream and plain sailing comes upon us again.  Sailing?   Ok, I'm not on a boat but plain flying just doesn't sound right, go on, admit it, it doesn't does it.  A distant memory comes to me at this time, something to do with time and the reason I needed an urgent watch battery replacement.  I need to put my watch forward 1 hour so that I know what time it is in Perth, don't want to be waking anyone up with a phone call at the wrong time of the night, it is now 9.45 Sunday morning, in Perth.

4 hours left of flying time before we reach Heathrow, I am finally coming to the end of the movie (forget 3rd time lucky, this is my 5th attempt) as we approach the Black Sea, just a little turbulance on the approach, but it quietens down as we fly over the sea, then somewhere  near Amsterdam we get tossed around a little more, but all in all, it's  been a very good flight so far.  Arrival at Heathrow was estimated at 5.05, about 25 minutes earlier than scheduled, a good tail wind can be thanked for this, but now we are facing a strong head wind and the descent into Heathrow felt like we were in a tumble dryer.  Forget the kite this time, there's no way a kite would have stayed airborne in this atmosphere, but to the pilot's credit, he hit the airstrip like he was placing a baby in a cradle which brought a resounding applause from the passengers.  It did seem though that we were never going to stop, hm, maybe we will run off the airstrip and carry on right through to Manchester, isn't that wishful thinking hey. Oh, nearly forgot, the couple sat next to me on this flight were Pauline and Danny, they were returning home to South End after a trip to Sydney and Perth.  They were visiting friends in Bateman and said they loved Perth very much and plan on returning in 3 years time.

Now starts my adventure in the old dart, how the hell to get out of Heathrow is in itself a mission, but Pauline and Danny took me in hand and guided me through to baggage collection, which included a long descent down a whole heap of stairs, escalators not working (Pauline made the comment "this would never have happened in Perth), Danny got my case off the carousel, the look on his face was priceless, no, the kitchen sink isn't in there.  They then led me through to what I thought was going to be the customs area, get the bags x-rayed etc but nope, straight through a door and we're out into the world again.  They walked me as far as the ramp to the trains where I was now on my own for another adventure through places I've only heard about.  The guy at the train ticket booth was helpful though very surly at first, amazing what a smile can do to calm the savage beast.  The only trouble was, he took it upon himself to validate my rail pass, and to anyone that has used one of these you know that validation commences the allocated time allowance for travel.  I was hoping to get a few freebies in as we have done before but it appears they have finally woken up to the rail pass process and each trip is recorded on the ticket as it is taken.  I take the lift down to the station and wait for the train that will take me to Paddington, (wonder if I'll see the bear himself.).  There is a slight drizzle at the moment but there is enough shelter on the station to protect us from getting wet.  The wind is quite chilly but I haven't noticed it yet, I'm sweating from my power walk complete with 30kg weights.  Mental note, when walking for exercise, distribute the weight evenly to both hands and don't let it be anything over 10 kg combined weight.

On arrival at Paddington I now have to purchase a ticket to Euston as this service isn't part of the Brit Rail conglomerate.  ₤3 gets me my ticket to Euston Square, not Euston proper. It is now 6.30am and the underground doesn't open till 7, great, finally a rest and a cuppa at the coffee shop that just caught my eye.  Wish I'd taken a photo now of the cup I got, it was almost a soup bowl, but much appreciated.  The girls in the coffee shop were really friendly and asked about my visit, where in Oz was I from etc.  They did tell me some bad news, there is no lift to the underground.  Cuppa finished I begin the walk to the stairs hoping with all my heart that the escalators are running now that the station is open.  Once again, the escalators seem to be there for decoration rather than to serve any useful purpose.  This is going to be fun, not, turning the suitcase around I pretended I was pushing the pram with the kids in it again, and went down the stairs, one step at a time pushing the case in front of me.  I had gone down about 5 steps when a young guy who was walking up the other side, crossed the dividing bar and helped me carry it down before commencing his ascent and continuing on to wherever a young guy would be going at such an early hour on a Sunday morning.

So far, there had been no one checking on tickets as we left the stations and it is no different at Euston Square, the guys just direct me  through a gateway big enough to fit my case through and inform me, once again, there is no lift, or escalator, just a lot of stairs to walk up.  I don't know why people say the youth of today have no respect as yet another young man interupts his journey to help me carry my case, which I am sure has put on weight over the last 24 hours, up another mountain of stairs.  As I came out on ground level I saw a line of barriers that I assume one would, on a normal day, pass through and show your ticket (forget about getting a suitcase through there though, anything wider than Twiggy would get stuck), but again, they were not in use.  My good fortune was still holding out as a station attendant was moving a huge screen away from the barriers which left a gap I could have driven a Mack truck through.  I asked her how to get to Euston Station, her instructions were very simple, turn left out of the door ahead and it's a short walk.  Simple to say? Yes, simple to do?  You've got to be joking.  I walked out of the doorway onto the streets of London which were were not just damp from drizzle but saturated from a bloody deluge.. an umbrella would be handy right now.  It is still pitch black outside, although it is 7.45 am and in Perth the sun would have been up for 2 hours already.  Get on with it George, it's only a 400 yard walk and you can't pass saturation point, at least you're not cold, and I wasn't, I'd worked up a good sweat by this time.  I've got about an hour to wait now for the bus that will take me to Northampton, and guess what, more steps to get my case down to platform 2 and another young man appears out of nowhere to help me.  There are a few mothers out there that need to know they have raised good sons.  Wandering on to platform 2, this young man and I are accosted by an official in bright yellow ordering us back to the top of the steps and behind a barrier, sorry mate, I don't think so, this case has seen enough steps in the last few hours to last a lifetime, that kerb over there looks inviting enough so I park myself on it, lean against the barrier pole and do my "I'm absolutely knackered" impression and am left alone to wait for the 8.50 bus that will take me a little further north and closer to my final destination.

I watch as 3 buses load up and take off to their respective destinations then a bus appears that is going to Northampton, leaving at 8.35.  The young guy that has the bus schedule comes over and tells me that I can get on this bus instead of sitting there in the cold so I can get into Northampton with time to spare for another hot cuppa. As we leave Euston we pass Camden Markets where the stall holders are getting ready for trade, setting up their wares in the dark and rain.  The lamp posts here have Christmas decorations with fairy lights on them but the only photo opportunities are when the bus stops at traffic lights, and wouldn't you know it, there are no decorations at the intersections. Travelling onward through the villages the sun makes its appearance amongst a lightly clouded sky, looks like we are in for a fine day after all, is it really December?

Ah, Northampton at last and that promise of a warming cuppa, yeah right, chance would be a fine thing, there doesn't appear to be a coffee shop, not that I can see anyway.  On enquiry I am directed to a train that is already waiting at the station, departing at 10.26 for Crewe, hm, I thought it was leaving at 10.35, but I'll get on it anyway, maybe, just maybe, the trains are running early for a change.  I manage to hoist the lead weight, that is passing itself off as a suitcase, up the steep gap from the platform and into the carriage of the train but find that there is no way it will fit in the luggage compartment, I hope no one else wants to come through the door with anything wider than a piece of 4 by 2.  It will be mission impossible unless they are a weight lifter.  Checking out the seating I look for seat 11A that has been booked in my name, oh dear, there is no seat 11A.  And none of the seats have a name on them.  Am I on the wrong train here?   A voice comes over the PA informing me that I am on the train headed to Crewe so I figure, find a seat and just enjoy the ride.  Since I am the only person travelling in First Class I choose to sit at a table seat, if more people get on later I can move.  I set myself up with camera, journal, pen and rail pass, and in a couple of minutes the train pulls out, and if  I should be on another one that has my name on a seat then it's too late to do anything about it now.

It is so quiet in here I hope  I don't fall asleep and miss my stop.  Stranger things have happened.  I sit and watch the English countryside roll by and write a little more in my journal, do half  a crossword and contemplate taking some photo's of things like green fields, sheep, cows then change my mind, everyone has seen those before, nothing exciting or interesting there.  We arrive in Rugby, ok, a photo of the station sign could be interesting, at least to me to remind me of where I've been.    2 more people arrive to share this long, quiet carriage with me, though their presence doesn't change the peace, the only sounds still to be heard are the wheels on the tracks and the occassional announcement over the PA.

11.10am finds me thinking about my years at school and the saying "sent to Coventry" as the train pulls to a stop at Coventry station.   The two guys that joined me in Rugby have now left the train to be replaced by 5 people.  A young couple and 3 people that I assume are fellow visitors to England, being that they were speaking in what I think could be a European language.  That voice comes over the PA system once again to inform us that the train will NOT be stopping in Birmingham but will be an express train straight through to Stafford.  The young couple hastily make their way off the train, guess they wanted to go to Birmingham hey.  The 3, shall we call them foreigners?, settled themselves in, took photo's of each other and chatted away like people on holidays do.  That voice that we had heard a few times finally materialized in the shape of a quite large man requesting to view our tickets.  He looked at mine, got out his pen and wrote the damn date on the ticket, oh well, that's definitely one day of my 4 day ticket used up, smiled and went on his way to the 3 people sat in the next table seat to my right.  Here his demeanour changed, he looked at their tickets, asked where were they going to, as if it's not stated on their ticket office purchased tickets, and on their reply in a heavy accent "Birmingham" turned on them rather nastily and said "I've already announced this train isn't stopping in Birmingham, you should listen to my announcements."  To be honest, in their defence, even I had trouble understanding his accent and he spoke so quickly and quietly that anyone whose native language isn't of Indian/English extraction could be forgiven for not knowing what the hell he said.  In broken English one of the travellers asked what were they to do now?  Of course the natural response was, get off the train at the next stop which is Stafford and catch a train back to Birmingham, how long will it take to get to Stafford, to their horror it is about a half hour trip, I just hope they didn't have a connection to make or people  to meet.

Passing through a number of  English villages it's interesting to note how easily one forgets how old England is until you see the old houses that occasionally line the railroad track, broken, crumbling brickwork and fencing, the soot coated chimneys and window frames, the guano coated rooftops, (I'm now picturing Dick Van Dyke as Bert "on the rooftops of  London, cor what a sight")  Stafford is finally reached at 11.52 and I now have the carriage to myself once again.  It appears we have a rest stop here, plenty of time to get a good shot of the station sign.   At 12 on the dot the train slowly pulls out of Stafford and makes its way north once more, at a rate of knots that makes it very difficult to take a photo of anything, and those curves in the track are taken at full speed, good thing I don't have a cuppa sitting on the table, I'd be in the same boat as the English cricketers needing catching practice.  As we get closer and closer to Crewe my original thoughts of a nice day are now changing, looks like December after all, the clouds are moving in with such haste, it seems they have an urgent appointment with some poor unsuspecting town to deliver a deluge the residents don't really want.  12.30 finds me alighting the train in Crewe, no rain yet but a wind so strong and cold you would think someone had opened a freezer door and was forcing the cold out with an air compressor on full blast, or  so the station staff tell me, I'm sweating again from the effort of pulling a Mack truck, that really wants me to believe it is a suitcase, behind me. It is suggested that I take advantage of the warm waiting room while I wait the next 30 minutes out for the bus that will take me on the last leg of my adventure northwards to arrive in Warrington at 1.45pm.  I park the Mack in the waiting room and venture outside into that so called strong, cold wind to make a call to Carol to let  her know I have made it to Crewe and that we seem to be running to schedule.

The trip to Warrington started off fine but as we travelled further north we started driving through a fine mist which became a heavy mist which finally turned into what it was trying to be from the start, rain.  The M6 had a fair amount of traffic on it but it was running smoothly, although a couple of times I thought the driver was a bit game with the trucks in front, he was right up their clacker despite the wet  road.  1.30 and I'm now beginning to see some familiar landmarks, the Cheshire Cheese, Manchester Ship Canal, the Cantilever Bridge, Parish Church spire, ah there's Oliver Cromwell, Bank Quay station is only minutes away, where Carol and Eddie will pick me up and a hot cuppa is guaranteed.

Slightly travel worn I collapse on the couch and enjoy my hot cuppa that finally satisfied a stomach who was beginning to think my throat had been cut.  Mark and Dawn came over to check what time we were going out for tea (dinner,supper or whatever it is you call it where you live).  It seemed really odd to be going out for tea at 5 pm and it was already pitch black outside.  By 7pm my body had come to an unreasonable conclusion that it must be about 10pm and Dawn was quite concerned that my eyes seemed to be having a problem staying open.  I did manage to last till 9.30 when we ventured home for another cuppa and bed.  I'll leave unloading the Mack until morning.