While riding in the back of a taxi through Gloucester headed for the station this evening, as I chatted to the taxi driver a glass fronted chip shop flashed past, and I half caught the sign.
“Was that Ruddy’s chip shop?”
“Yep.”
“I think the last time I went there I was about eight years old”
I couldn’t believe it. It’s been at least thirty years since I stood in that chip shop with my Dad.
I finally arrived at the station just as a train I might have caught began to move. Dammit. Why does that happen so often? Perhaps it doesn’t, and we only remember the times it does.
Getting home required four trains and three stations. They all connected wonderfully, and sped me across the country only a little slower than a car on a clear road might have - only I didn’t really notice because I read “Ready Player One” on the Kindle all the way home. It’s a wonderful, wonderful book - I could turn into a complete book bore, and regale you with the story. I won’t. Just trust me, and go get a copy.
The final walk from the station to home was backbreaking. You try carring two laptops on your back, and a week’s worth of clothes in your hand. I ended up carrying the clothes bag (a huge sports bag) in front of me as you might a sack of potatoes, because the weight was causing my sides to cramp.
Following a knock on our front door, our eldest daughter opened it and peeked through the gap.
“DAD!”
I was escored to the living room where Miss Six was laying down feeling sorry for herself with earache. I sat down next to her and she smiled weakly. Apparently she had been asking after me all evening. While I watched junk TV with the girls, and sipped on a cup of tea, Miss Eleven slid up next to me, and lifted my arm around her. A little later Miss Eight arrived home from Brownies and charged into the room, announcing the “secret” chocolate cake she had told me about on the phone.
While I sat squashed on the sofa between them all, I realised how much I had missed them over the last few days. A little while later somebody else got a huge hug in the kitchen. She held the house together for a week, single handed. I don’t know how she did it.