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Sitting on the stoop of the hotel, which once used to be someone’s front door. There’s a building across the street that is driving me nuts, because it too is a series of row houses - quite large - but something’s not right.
There are ten entrances. But where is the entrance for the one on the right-hand corner? On the side, I’m guessing, but it doesn’t seem grand enough. Okay, time to go.
I clunked my bag down the stairs, and waited on the platform.
Alert: line delayed. Alert: severe delay. Hmm. The Circle line was severely delayed due to an event a stop before my destination. I looked at my maps, and thought I would take the District to the Tower Hill station, then hoof it to Liverpool Street, a 15 minute trip. Plenty of time. Alert: District Line severely delayed The platform had become quite crowded, because people were arriving, but trains were not. The boards announcing the next train kept reconfiguring the arrival time. Eventually they just said . . . HELD. Friends, what would you do? It's 10:15. You have a noon reservation at the station far away. I made a command decision. I turned and dragged my bags up the steps and went back up. Called an Uber. Guess what? Seems a lot of people had the same idea, as the delays rippled through the system. Well. Got one - no, he cancelled. Connecting with drivers - wait - nothing - Augh. Next option: find a black. A cab pulled up to drop off someone, and I took it. The driver warned me it would be a trip, perhaps an hour and fifteen minutes to get to the station. I said I understood. We poked through traffic and made it a fifth of the way before he said look, you might be best taking the Elizabeth line at the Bond street station, and I could either take this as an act of altruism, or because he just couldn’t be arsed to plug and poke for an hour; didn’t matter. He was right. I paid up and hopped out and went down, down, down to the Elizabeth line, and glory be I was in Liverpool Street Station in ten minutes. (17s vid)
Well! Phew. Had some time now. Got a coffee and sat and waited for the train to be posted on the board.
Which brings me to where we began. Now we are heading towards Ipswich at a stately pace, and all is well. The only contusion that awaits is the Ipswich Switch, wherein one has to drag your bag up the steps and over the tracks to catch the local to Darsham, which waits for no man. Well, it waits ten minutes. Is this the right train? I’m sure it’s the right train. Maybe it’s the wrong train, though. Better check - No. I am not going to check. I used to check, but at this point I should damned well be satisfied that the board said track ten for Norwich, the LED display on the windows of the train said Norwich, and the sign inside the train that says “Service to Norwich” is not lying to me for some devious reason. Ah, but is it the right train to Norwich???? Does it stop at Ipswich? It does. And there, of course, comes the grievous moment, the Switch, the desperate mad struggle to get over the tracks, the momentary panic - track 1? Or track 3? But we are an hour and fourteen minutes away from that.
LATER It was waiting on Platform One, as promised.
And then I was back.
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There was Astrid beaming as I waved from the train as it pulled in. Back again! The quick drive to Walberswick, then back into my little home here - okay NOT MINE AT ALL but I’ve spent so much time here, and when I sit at the table, as I am doing now, I look up and see the chair where Natalie sat and wrote on the trips we took together, and it’s the same old marvelous feeling of history and family and continuity, the great good place. Hung up my clothes in the closet and took a nap. When I got up I went to the new Tuck Shop, which has been spiffed and rethought:
The front concrete will have some aesthetic improvmeents, of course - the big empty area is for the daily product stalls. On the way back, Obligatory Nature Photos. Some things here have withered. But there are many blooms and berries.
Dinner at the Anchor, of course.
Miles joined us, which was grand. He’s off to the US in a month to do a Doctor Who con, because he’s done a ton of reading for audiobooks, and they love him! An unexpected boon. We both had two starters for a main, because how could you not: Campbells Smoked Salmon, and Campbells Haggis with poached egg. Fine ale from across the river and haggis prepared from the Anchor kitchen - why yes I am in the sceptered isle and doing all the blimey stuff, thank you very much. Afterwards we retired to Miles’ pied-a-tierre for a local scotch and conversation, and that was a grand and sprightly and spiky hour. The scotch was exceptional, which is surprising, as Adnam’s whiskey offerings haven’t impressed me much. This was almost a dessert scotch, if you can imagine such a thing. Then back to the Hutte and to this. When I am here at night I write to the Mancini Channel on Sirius XM, because the mood fits, and I always count down the number of tunes played before they get to “You Only Live Twice.” Tonight it was four.
Woke up with a cold. Not the greatest plot twist here. It’s peculiar how I skipped all the initial symptoms - scratchiness, fuzziness, general blah - and went right to the slightly stuffed-up nose and unhappy throat. Could just be travel blah, or possibly I just ignored the symptoms because I was jet lagged and walked everywhere, and mistook the fatigue and mild head-fog for the results of displacement and exertion. Whatever! It’s here now and not bad, and I am taking zinc and will nap and be fine. Walked to the Black Dog or Mucky Pup this morning as soon as it opened, and bought an loaf of bread the size of my head. Made a fine stout breakfast that will bear me throughout the day, and chatted about local things and doings. Took a walk to the sea this morning. Instead of the normal route, I decided to take a leafy lane that appears like a magic portal if you look to the right while walking down the High Street. After you pass through a lane with high hedges, you enter the fields.
And then to the sea. Listened to an album of English music I’d found on Apple Music, a compilation of Holst and things Holstian. Like a lot of the music of the period, it starts out with lovely ideas and wanders off into the fields, aimlessly, never quite getting back on the path. As if this wasn’t enough excitement for the day, we went to the grocery store. To Aldi’s! Yes, ALDI’S, so I can seethe again at the thing that is kept from us in the States. I mean, look at this:
The name still seems slightly indecent. The prices always surprise me. The cost of iceberg lettuce, cashews, eggs, hamburger - all significantly lower. And no I am not doing a 1 : 1 lazy-minded dollar-pound swap. Back to the home base, where I thought I might take a brief nap, and ended up sleeping for an hour and a half. Definitely not 100%, but I will power through.
LATER I was called to dinner, which as Shepherd’s Pie and peas and a robust red. After Denis had gone to bed Astrid and I stayed up and nattered and prattled away - we can go for hours. I was explaining again the deep deep ways in which this place has burrowed into my heart, and how the walk to the sea through the paths and woods felt, how it was nothing I had ever expected would speak to me so simply and directly - and how it’s a bit of a pickle since this is not my country and this is not my home, but. But the clerk at the Tuck shop lit up when I came in, and they know me at the Anchor, and so on and so on. I feel more at home here than Fargo. Of course Fargo will always be the ancestral home with all the boons and curses that implies, but it is occupied now by a new population indifferent or deaf to the Fargo I knew. Minneapolis has likewise changed, with the city I knew buried under a sediment of unfortunate events. The only true place I can call my own is Jasperwood, and hence last month’s utter despair at thinking I would have to leave.
Tomorrow: The Worst Day.
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