Trains

 

 

Mike doesn’t like air travel.  In fact, he’s phobic about flying, which is why he wouldn’t come to South Africa with me.  So when we had trips to Italy last year we went by rail – sometimes in overnight sleeping compartments.  I now know I don’t like them much.  It was a disappointment.  I had romantic ideas about sleeping compartments from watching Poirot or The Lady Vanishes, but they’re not like that now.  European train travel allows pensioners to travel at half fare, so it’s possible to buy first class tickets at much reduced prices - which is what we did.  Modern first class sleeping compartments are very, very small with bunk beds, a tiny sink in a cupboard in a corner and a shared loo at the end of the corridor. 

What I liked about them least is the insistence of the guards that you lock your door at night.  I’ve said before that I’m claustrophobic so I’d prefer to deter villains and burglars by piling cases against the door, than by locking myself into a 7 foot by 3 foot space.  But the guards won’t have it.  They come down the corridors at night testing all the doors, opening them and shouting, “Lock your door” at you as you’re drifting into sleep, just to let the burglars know which doors are unlocked.        

Our first class tickets also bought us a rather horrible breakfast in the mornings.  Someone knocks on your door with a tray containing a plastic encased rubbery sugary croissant and a carton of fruit drink which is not fruit juice but some other beverage.  There’s also one other item of food on the tray but it’s so unmemorable that I can’t remember what it is.

I  thought about all this yesterday because Mike was clearing out some things and came across a bag of toiletries that we had been issued with on a sleeper train.  “Look,” he said, “This folds out into a toothbrush and there’s some toothpaste with it.”  “Throw it away,” I said, but he took no notice.  He was brought up to be prudent with bits of string and brown paper so he never knows when things might come in useful.  “Oh, look,” he carried on, “Soft ear plugs!” “For soft ears?” I asked.  There was also a small bit of soap in the goody bag which I think has now been saved.  But even Mike declined to save the piece of folded plastic that was meant to be a toilet seat cover.  Just imagine carting one of those around with you everywhere.  Though I suppose some people do.    

 

The picture at the top of this page is of some blossom that has just appeared on the side of the house.  Nothing to do with the post at all.