Somewhere between Manningtree and Ipswich
And so to Suffolk, on a train which smells suspiciously of damp. I’ve spent the last hour with my back curved slightly to avoid my hair coming in contact with the seat back just, ‘y’know, in case.
It’s a mixed business and pleasure trip this evening. I’m dropping in on my Mum this evening, and collecting the car from the garage where the pesky fault in the innards of the electrical system has been hunted down and squashed like the electron-driven irritation that is. Tomorrow I have a journalistic appointment in Ipswich, and a large pile of proofs to read and get back to base somehow.
So far Anglian is proving more capable of running a railway than the last time I travelled this way on a train, when I was horribly delayed, eventually forced off the train onto a bus only to discover that the bus driver had no idea where he was going. The only thing that made the journey tolerable was the company of a bunch of mentally disabled kids and their very patient teachers. The kids were so good-natured and friendly that they dispelled even the most vicious malevolence of stressed Londonites.
Still, with no sign of the kids, I hope we don’t have a repeat performance this evening.
Sign up for e-mail updates
Join the newsletter to receive the latest posts in your inbox.