Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
the hapless creature but didn't bother to clean it and offered me the bag of biscuits instead!
I declined politely - I'm not a huge fan of vanilla wafers either especially the ones covered
in dog snot - and looked at the dog who I swear just rolled his eyes as if to say, 'I know, but
what can you do?'
And now here she was in front of me, on a dark, icy railway platform in Central France. We
were surrounded by lovers either meeting or parting, and the wind was blowing in along the
station, chilling to the bone. She was a batty old dear and her eyes were clearly seeing mistle-
toe where there was none and her lips seemed puckered up while bits of biscuit clung to the
hairs on her chin. I seriously thought of legging it onto the tracks and trying to run home.
I looked at the dog, its face so covered in wafer he looked like he had canine psoriasis, its
eyes seemed to say, 'Take me with you, please' which instantly shook me from my reverie as
for one absurd moment I thought of arriving home and adding another bloody animal to the
collection. I plucked up the courage to speak to the woman, but she beat me to it.
'Can I stroke your coat?' she enquired. 'It looks so soft.'
And so I spent the next five minutes waiting for a train while having my coat stroked by an
old woman. I had been on the road for ten days, travelling since late the previous evening and
was so tired I was actually shaking through fatigue. Tomorrow would be my fortieth birthday
- I realised I was just an hour from home; an hour from Natalie and the boys and the dogs,
cats and horses; an hour from snowed-in pandemonium, short tempers, noise and marbles. I
began to weep silently, exhaustion playing a part obviously but also happiness. I was finally
going home and I couldn't have been happier.
