“In llama land there’s a one man band and he’ll toot his flute for you, come fly with me let’s fly, let’s fly away.”

If you don’t know who sang that, stop reading this right now.

I know adventure is just around the corner. Only right now, what’s right around the corner are just more corners.

I’m packed, I’m ready, I’m waiting for 20:30 this evening when I can board the Caledonian Flyer, one of the greatest trains on this earth, to deliver me overnight to Inverness (by the way to one of the greatest country’s on this earth) and then the next day another train onto Strathcarron, my departure point.

Tuesday was another holding day, studying my maps and trying to remember the difference between east and west (this will be important later).

Nick, Belinda and I went out for dinner around sevenish, looking for a decent pub in the neighboring villages. But for some reason or another, they didn’t fill the bill.

They were too busy. Or they were not busy enough. The menu was printed on the wrong paper. They didn’t grovel enough. I never knew I was such a tough customer.

We eventually ended up with tapas in Faringdon. Yes, when in Rome, eat in Spain. It was very nice, indeed.

Home to the news and tea.

Wednesday

Up to sort out my suitcase which gets mailed to Montrose and once again (for the upteenth time) check my backpack to ensure I have not forgotten anything.

I had an issue with the train station to the West Country a few days earlier (it was closed for some odd reason) and decided to check on my return to London. Of all things there was a rail strike planned for later in the day and yours truly could potentially be stuck so far from my north bound train that I might has well never left the states.

So rather than leaving Longcot at a civilized 15:00 or 16:00 and then casually making my way to the train (remember, one of the greatest train rides on earth) I scrambled out of the Boyd’s at 10:30, praying I might make it to London.

A possible strike? Confusion to the enemy!, as long as I get to my destination.

After fearing the worse and forcing Belinda (remember, Belinder) to drive freakishly fast, we arrived in record time. I assume it was record time because Nick was pounding the roof and threatening to throw up.

And all of that for nothing. I bought my ticket, a train showed up five minutes later and made record time to London with no one coming even close to threatening to throw up. And while the online announcements said the cars would be packed, there were five other people in my car, in addition to me.

Nick and Belinda dropping me off at the station.

Made it to Euston Station, put my rucksack in storage (Lord, my vocabulary is starting to Bloody shift already) and have been taking up the time, hiking around for six hours, eating and snooping about.

I did stop in a pub and saw this sign and had to try it.

Now should anyone say to me “Why, I’ll eat my hat!” I can reply, “No need to, I’ve already tried mine.”

It’s time to mosey on down to the station (for the you-know-what-kind-of-train-it-is). The Caledonian Flyer will be packed with TGOCers. While normally God fearing people, as they get further north, they do become a tad unmanageable. I can hardly wait.

More later. Yip Yip.