So after comparing the costs, and although hiring a car or even better, borrowing Jen's would have been cheap as chips. It would have meant me driving up the M20, round the M25 and then up the A12.
Going on the train was £79 and would take about four and half hours, and be there in time to speak with the minister to discuss the service on Friday.
So, that's what we did.

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I stood in the doorway and watched the countryside slip by, as usual. We arrived in Stratford on time, and I had 40 minutes to kill. So I walk through the soul-destroying shopping centre, along to the regional station, going via the underpass where there is a Middle-eastern snack bar, where I get a spicy lamb samosa and a coffee to have before the train pulled in
On the platform there was lots of passengers, and I began to think all the seats would be taken. People began to muster near the platform edge as arrival time drew near. I then realised that standard class would be at the far end of the platform, so I walk up, dodging the raindrops, so when the train arrived, just two of us got in the front coach, meaning we have the choice of dozens of seats. I pick on in the middle of one of the large windows, and settled down to enjoy the journey to Norfolk.
I have always loved looking out of the window on a journey.
The train lurched out as the couplings we made tight, then we quickly accelerated out of London. Through Ilford, Brentwood, Shenfield, stopping at Chelmsford, Colchester, Manningtree, Ipswich and into deepest Suffolk then to Norfolk.
Is this Diss another passenger asked. Yes, dis is Diss, I replied.
And from there it was a 20 minute run into that fine city, Norwich.
I had 20 minutes to kill, and I was all excited at the thought of riding in one of the new class 755 FLIRTs, but when the train pulled in, it was a dreadful single coach 153. Would we all get on?
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I got off at Oulton Broad, I had half an hour to kill, time enough to take some shots and walk to the hotel to meet the minister.
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Wine bars and hairdressers.
The Wherry is still there, as it has been for over a century, but it is now just a hotel and restaurant. It used to have a disco back in the 80s, and my friend Simon and I once and failed to get drunk on Cinzano.
As you do.
Anyway, I sit and wait for Sue, the minister to arrive. I people watch, and a party of women who lunch staggered out, giggling from one bottle of prosecco too many.
Lucky them.
Ann arrives, I get a coffee each and a slice of "any kind" of cake. But I had to choose, so I picked cookie dough cheesecake, which was sweet and lovely.
We talk about Mum, my life, her life, Mum's life and all sorts of other stuff. We talk for two hours and she has all the info needed.
Even after the cheesecake, I was hungry, and the carvery was open. So, once we had parted, I paid for a meal and a pint of Wherry, and went to have two slices of beef, a Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, chipolatas, vegetables and a huge ladle of gravy.
I made short work of that, and felt much, much better.
I texted a friend, who I was due to meet, and he would be in the pub next door at half six, giving me 90 minutes to check in and lay on the bed reading for of The Secret Commonwealth.
At half six, with dusk falling, I walked to the Commodore, got a pint and sat down at a table to wait for Andy and his wife to arrive.
I have known Andy since our first day at primary school in 1969. Once we left school, he bought a starter home near Mum, then moved away. He then moved further away. To Perth. Australia.
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They arrive, we hug and I buy them drinks.
More friends arrive, so there were six of us.
We talk, drink, talk some more, drink some more.
It was a fine evening. We leave at ten past eleven. I walk to the hotel to try and make a cuppa and munch on the ginger nuts room service left.
1 comment:
Andy reminds me a bit of my former supervisor, Clifford. Who has never been to Perth I might add.
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