On the way home from the seaside the day before Thanksgiving, after we had watched our dancer daughter, Malia, act so well she had reduced herself and an audience member sitting next to me, to tears, while keeping a flawless American accent throughout her monologue, we got lost!
We had taken her to a small Mexican restaurant for some nachos and a chat and then dropped her off at her digs and caught the train to London with a few minutes to spare.
We walked purposefully through the underground system and caught our train to Victoria without a hiccup.
Our little jaunt was going well.
At Victoria we hopped on our train and I found a toilet, unusual for this service but I was so relieved to be able to relieve myself that I thought little of it!
We pulled out of the station and off we went into the night.
“Something’s not right,” said hubs looking at the seats.
“The stretch to Brixton is always a long one,” I said looking out of the window at the endless identical looking streets of nighttime London.
“Excuse me?” Hubs said to the man behind him, “are we going to Orpington?”
“Yes, I think that’s where this train ends up,” he said.
“Beckenham Junction?” asked hubs hopefully.
“New Beckenham,” said the girl across the aisle.
“I knew we were on the wrong train,” said hubs and we started pulling into stations I’d never heard of. New Beckenham was a thrity minute walk from home.
“Where else does it go?” he asked of the girl across the aisle.
“Bromley South, Shortlands…”
“Shortlands, we can walk from there,” he sat back relieved.
The journey was long and curvy, heading in the right drection but hitting the other little towns inbetween Dulwich and Penge. I had a story about the dogs at Catford; he didn’t want to hear it.
“This is Ravensbourne,” hubs said finally, “we can get off here.”
We alighted.
I walk each day along these roads, but as I explained to my better half, I am usually taking a one hour constitutional, not trying to find the quickest way home.
Unsure of my sense of direction while under pressure and cover of night I allowed my bloodhound to lead.
Somehow we ended up at Shortlands, a station one stop further away, and walked up the main road, for 20 more minutes, to home! The whole walk had taken just under an hour!
“You paid me back,” said hubs as he flung himself on the bed.
“Paid you back for what?” I asked.
“For getting on the wrong train.”
“How?”
“By taking us the long way home.”
I flipped on the electric blanket.
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
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