Anguish in Aberdeen (Part 1 - from Home to Alton Station)

After the success of our Edinburgh trip back in February 2016, we had decided that the next time Bridget had to deliver training in Scotland, I would take a couple of days off and we would make a weekend of it. Strangely not in Edinburgh and not in Aberdeen, but in Inverness. Plans are wonderful things.

After some initial will it/won't it happen. The training dates were settled and I was booked on a Thursday afternoon flight from Heathrow up to Aberdeen where Bridget would meet me and drive me to the hotel she was staying at, where we would have dinner. She would get up early to go into Kintore to deliver her training and I would make my way by train into Aberdeen to spend a day wandering around (and wondering aloud alot of the time - ed) to see the sights.

It's Never Easy

As you can imagine, Bridget was concerned about my ability to:

• get to Heathrow from Alton, unsupervised (wandering about London asking how to get to Deathrow - gets you the oddest looks, even from our wonderful Bobbies - Bobby Charlton, Bobby Robson, Bobby the Sailor man - or is that Popeye)
• make it in time to catch the flight (it was just the one time, my watch had stopped and I hadn't noticed. Had wondered why time was passing so slowly - but then it just does from time to time. Watching paint dry would have been faster I guess)
• not get held up at security (again) due to throwing a strop about "perceived safety", and it all being, "for show"  and "time wasting security theatre" - as this had got me into trouble the last time (in my defence, spending an hour in a quiet area, away from the hub-bub of an airport was wonderful) - but the embarrassment factor for Bridget was off the scales and I was lectured about not upsetting the security natives otherwise it would mean no rhubarb crumble for me (I am sure that is not what she said, but that is what I took it to mean, I mean how can you live without rhubarb crumble - what would be the point. After this,"threat", which strangely for me I took very seriously, I pledged to be as good as gold next time I was going through airport security)
• catch the correct flight (it is surprisingly easy to mix up Zurich and Munich isn't it - or is it just me and honestly it was just the once - ed)
• manage to remember to take off only those items of clothing that they ask and not go the whole hog and strip down to my boxer shorts. (Again this was a one time misunderstanding as I was coming back to the UK from, "Foreign Parts", and had misheard or perhaps misunderstood the barked command from the Security Person. When someone in Authority says strip, you strip, they had actually said, "Strip off your belt and shoes", but me being me simply heard the strip off part, and back then I had a perfectly honed body (obviously in my tiny little mind), which strangely matched the phrase that Bridget used when the trousers came down, she may have used, "Are you out of your tiny mind?"....)  

So you can see, my track record is fairly poor, but I was given a printed set of instructions on a laminated sheets With Tick Boxes (tm) to allow myself to check them off as I progressed on the way to Aberdeen and give Bridget realtime updates as to my whereabouts. Perhaps and most importantly I could ensure that I was on track and didn't wander off either physically or mentally as is my wont.

The Day Before

The day before I set off, it was a Wednesday, though that isn't important right now, but I always find it useful to know which day it is, particularly at the weekend so that I don't unexpectedly find myself at work on the wrong day.

Only ever done this on a Bank Holiday - ended up at work,  wondering why the roads had been so quiet - and it wasn't until 10 a.m. when no-one else had turned up that I realised what had happened.

In my defence, your honour, I was working overseas so and was unaware that the Monday in question was in fact a Public Holiday, Luxembourg Freed From Nazis Oppression day or some such.

Anyhow, the day before the trip, I was at Sunny Works (tm) but had woken that morning (the word was originally typed as morking - which is a must more interesting word than morning - literary ed) with a very uncomfortable stomach. Gripey is the word. Spasms of discomfort were wracking my body around every fifteen to twenty minutes.

Being an ardent contractor and knowing a day at home suffering silently (silently - you - give me a break  - milk the illness ed) and generating no fee income whatsoever (I refuse to call this working from home - and ensure that my work laptop is at work so that this is impossible - contractor integrity ed) as opposed to a day at the office in discomfort and more importantly generating fee income.

But more importantly than that, there was a problem from the previous day that hadn't been nailed and needed to be, before I was off to Aberdeen - so work beckoned like a Siren and I managed to ignore the pain and head to work to finish the job (the waft of a melancholy violin is heard in the distance - ed).

The pressing question was, had I eaten something that disagreed with me the previous night or had I caught a bug in my interactions with Londoners the previous day?

After reflecting on my dinner;

• half a jar of wasabi peas, just to liven up the palate, 
• followed by a whole roast chicken, 
• an Esmerelda Blenkinsop special salad (containing at least: asparagus, tomatoes, avocado, red onion), 
• a whole wholemeal baguette (need to eat healthily you know), 
• a bottle of the finest Sancerre (a white wine - strangely white wines do not appear to be white - but range from pale yellow to rich amber),  to help wash down the bread
• This was followed by five portions of the finest Waitrose mini Lemon Meringue pies washed down with a small bottle of one of our lovely pudding wines (for some reason they are always small bottles - now I think I might know why - ed)

As my earnest readers might realise from the above, Bridget was away, so the cat could play - down Beau down, it's my chicken and I am not sharing it - I refer you to The Olive Tree and The Cat to explain my relationship with the cat.

So, no,  it couldn't have been what I had eaten. Simply had to be an infected Londoner.

I managed to get through the day, though there were a few precarious moments where I had to let out a few sounds to ease the pain.

I had been hoping to nail the work problem early and then go home to recuperate, however, the problem was one of those little blighters that lead you this way and that, so much so that I called in the King of Common Sense to pair with me to try and see what I had missed.

Sadly, the KoCs failed to solve the problem either, sadly for my stomach the problem wasn't nailed until someone else (eternally grateful to Jakob) looked at the configuration and after five minutes stated boldly, "I know what it is", and most importantly he did.

We fixed the configuration, and lo and behold everything started working.

What a result, pity we had failed to find that out seven hours earlier.

[EBC - We have allowed the above aside, as the author has informed us that the context that it gives to the narrative is commensurate with the length of the interruption]

By Wednesday night I wasn't feeling too hot (even after turning the heating up and putting on a jumper, the weather at this time of the year is just sooo variable - ed), so much so that only had a little drink of water for my dinner as my stomach had moved into, Growler Mode (tm). At one point it growled and gurgled so loudly it startled the cat who had been sleeping peacefully beside me.

As Bridget was away, I had planned to Box Out (tm) on Series 5 of The Walking Dead, which had finally appeared on Amazon Prime, so was free to view (given that Bridget pays for it - win win for me! - freerider ed). But for once it failed to attract me, the violence, the groaning and moaning inside my tummy seemed more than enough for one man to bear.

Instead, after a Skype call to Bridget in which I manfully mentioned only once or twice how rotten I felt, I had an early night.

The theory being that an early night would allow the upset stomach to heal itself so that the next morning I would be as fit as a fiddle to ensure that I could do the journey to Aberdeen without let or hindrance. If only it had turned out that way, sigh.

The Thursday Journey

Now unlike most people (really, you think for a moment you are like anybody else - put him down ed) there were things that Had To Be Done before setting off.

• Bins to be emptied, 
• cat litter to be refreshed (not sure if that is the right word, but stuffing the old stuff - manky stuff covered in cat outpourings and things more solid than that into a clean black bag and the discarded into the outside bin.); 
• dishwasher to be run (well let off his lead for a quick run up and down the lane, before being tied back to the cupboard under the sink), 
• general tidy up to be done (as one of the neighbours, Peter, Bless Him,) so that the house at least looked tidy for neighbours, never is when it is just us.

Sometimes closing the back bedroom door after "tidying up", the rest of the house is the hardest part as the weight and volume of the material "tidied up" can be quite substantial. I really most throw away the 30 years worth of Economists at some point, but I know that as soon as I do that article from 1989 will come in useful.

So once the house was set, I did the final most unwelcome task.

That is: Telling The Cat that we are going to be away. No you may think that this is irrelevant, I used to think it was irrelevant, but knowledge is hard won on the cat front.

Bridget always tells the cat (Oscar we do still miss you - obituary ed) where we are going, how long we are going to be gone and who will be coming into feed him.

Believe you me, not doing this is not an option.

So, I wandered upstairs to find Beau (aka Black Hell Beast - I refer my reader to the Olive Tree and the Cat - again ... go on, go back and find the above link and read it -I ask you - just can't get the readers anymore....- rant ed) curled up in his basket.

His head was down, fast asleep. I stood watching him for a moment, debating with myself, should I wake him up and tell him, or just walk out and tell Bridget that I had told him. Well, if you are a reader of this blog, you know what I had to do.

I cleared my throat, in an "attract the cat's attention", kind of way.

From the darkness of the Cat Cave, I detected a subtle shift in the light, perhaps a glint of a half open eye looking at me. On that presumption (and fearing for my life - not sure why, but that just happens from time to time - I presume it is just me - paranoia ed),

Undeterred, I pressed on and gave a brief explanation of our (not me and the cat, but Bridget and I's) plan for the weekend ahead.

That job safely out of the way I headed for the door. Luckily there was a check list that Bridget had left on the back of the front door, to ensure that I left home with all the right items to hand.

The Checklist

• Are you decently clothed?
• Have you got your shoes on?
• Have you fed and watered the cat? Setting out the food and water is sufficient. Trying to force feed the cat IS NOT what I mean!
• Have you got your keys?
• Have you got your tablet (this is Bridget speak for, "Have you brought all the required happy pills - I have a varied selection of lots of pretty colours)?
• Did you remember to check-in and print off your boarding card?
• Have you got your boarding card on your person?
• Have you got your phone?
• Have you got a phone charger?
• Have you checked the bus times from Woking?
• Have you checked that the trains from Alton to Woking are working?
• Have you got your season ticket?
• Have you got your coat
• Have you had breakfast and a drink
• Have you got you rucksack?
• Have you got your wallet?
• Do you know where your marbles are?

Getting bored of the list now, time to move on.

Bridget does like to ensure that I do not have a, "D'Oh", moment in public. That usually ends up with tears and an early bed time with no dinner; sometimes I feel I am not treated as a grown-up (Bridget says. "When you act like a grown-up, I will treat you like a grown-up. Now stop complaining and clean your plate!)

Trip to Heathrow

The walk to the station was pleasant, if uncontroversial. There was only one slight near death experience, but the car managed to stop in time and I was not flung into the air to my immediate death (you really should learn to use crossing points and not just wander across the roads putting your hands out to the oncoming traffic. I know it works it films - but this is real life - green cross code ed)

Alton station, Place of Magical Sunrises and Sunsets (tm), was reached with no further incident. The train was waiting for me (well not exactly waiting for me, trains are not yet on call like Uber taxis - but that time will come -technology ed). But waiting for anyone who had the time, inclination and more importantly the money to get on board.

As I wandered onto the station platform a waft of cooked bacon entered my nostrils, "Hmm", I thought, Bridget had reminded me that morning that I should eat before I set off, but given that I had set off and failed to eat - I though that I could rectify this oversight with a Bacon Roll that was on offer at the Whistlestop Cafe (Yes, really, this is really what it is called, not sure where the Fried Green Tomatoes have gone, probably gone off  -  film ed)

The chap behind the counter surprised me, as not only could I not see him, as he was sitting down behind the hot food counter, but he came out with, "What can I do for you young man?", I looked about for the young man in question, but nobody there but me. For this I intuited that he had some kind of visual impairment.

Checking out the hot food counter, "Whoargh", I thought to myself, then realised that this was probably inappropriate, and just gave the contents a once over without any further thoughts of sexual excitement.

The counter was sparsely populated, a single sausage roll and a single bacon roll. You'd have thought they might have hooked up and become a bacon and sausage double roll, "Whoargh", I thought again.

..........

Part 2 is coming Real Soon Now - covering

• the problems of finding a seat on the train, 
• how to get off a train at the station. 
• the bus to Heathrow and 
• the interactions with Security at Heathrow Airport.

At some point (possibly in Part 2 - but it might migrate into Part 3) we will get to:

• the excitement I generated at the Vulcanology department at  the University in Aberdeen
• the long smelly drive to Inverness aka My Own Personal Yellowstone
• the three hotel rooms in 12 hours (When It Rains It Pours)
• the long damp stroll around Inverness