Wednesday 30th. December, '97.
Heathrow.

Early start, and a pleasant flight via Lufthansa sitting next to an English lady accountant who is returning home after a few weeks in northern India to Portsmouth, and is looking forward to a long, hot bath and English food.

So nice to arrive and have 'Lychee' from Paddynet waiting for me ! He not only helped me with my luggage to the station and onto my hotel in Westminster, he also took me via underground to Cyberia - the Cyber-cafe off Tottenham Court Road.

The Blakemore Hotel,
London, England.

The Blakemore Hotel was moved while I was away - and walking for forty minutes or so up, down, and around Gardens, Closes, Mews, Terraces (with thoughts that Freddy in 'My Fair Lady' never had this problem) I was so pleased to be back and find I actually had a map on the back of my room card IN the room, I stayed put and slept for eleven hours.

Thursday, 31st. December, '97.

An English breakfast in the dining room - African chef, Philippino and Spanish waiters Sergio, Guia and Clecia Fernandes da Costa friendly and talkative.

Off exploring (with map) and not only spent time 'net-networking' with Paula, of Oxford Travel, called back into see Tina at Royal Court Apartments, and also dropped back into the White Hart pub - Kim the waitress from Brisbane had long gone - chatted with Linda Gustafson from Manterp, Sweden, and promised to drop back later.

Then off to Oxford Street - window shopping. So many end of year sales - so little cash ! Still adjusting to the exchange rate - calculating I can always sell my laptop.

Lunch at Pizza Hut for an (English) Supreme pizza with Laura, an Italian waitress. Sitting next to an Austrian couple and watching the never-ending stream of people passing by.

Another bus - and the stop in Bond Street is right outside Liz Davenport ! So nice to catch up with Jane even if I don't need anything, and it felt like being 'home' among the beautiful jewel-like colours and fabrics. Even Stevie was impressed to think I could manage without a REAL coat.

Visited the nearby Cybercafe at Whitelys, in Bayswater as they were closing, and James tells me it is THE original internet-cafe, and he's been running it for three years.

New Years eve - and the first time I have ever stayed in an hotel not organising something for the guests, even if a get-together. So around 9.30pm, I returned to the White Hart - this time with Phil the boss introducing me to a few of the 'regulars' - Mike who used to be a chauffer, Gio from Co. Donegal, Ireland, and Tony from Brunei. It was nice, friendly and pleasant, and not one rowdy guest. Returning to the hotel with my little 'pressies' I sat in the Rossetti Bar until midnight - when in typical English fashion, people shook hands, polite and formal. Aussie hugs for everyone, from me ! Watched part of the Edinburgh celebrations on TV before calling it a night, I was pleased I'd heard from Alan in Stirling, and been able to catch up with 'Bullitt' in Yorkshire, and Iann in Edinburgh by phone.

Thursday, January 1, '98,
Waterloo/Southampton

New Years day - another beautiful fresh morning - calm, clear sky. The streets empty and first and only one at breakfast.

Checking out of my room, I leave my luggage and head back to the cyber-cafe at Whitelys, via different streets through the estate to the shopping centre for a few hours. So nice to be in the same time zone for a change as some I chat with, too.

Back to the hotel and a taxi to Waterloo station, where I am slow organising myself by lookng for a trolley for my luggage, locating the ticket office to purchase my ticket, and then heading for the correct platform. As I never found the luggage trolleys, I heave my suitcase into the first available carriage suprised it is both empty and dark. No problem, I managed, even if I didn't see a phone to ring Tommy telling him which train I was on.

Lights turn on, and the cleaner moves down the carriage informing me these carriages are being cleaned, and I need to be in the carriages further down the front. OK, out with the suitcase, no problem. Except there IS no front carriages - the train had left as I was settling myself in.

Now there is time to grab a trolley, make a phone call and organise myself appearing calm and unhurried. Until we move off through the countryside, and the fields, houses, rooflines, chimneypots, motorways, hedgerows, thatched roofs and villages bring home what an adventure this is !

Passing Sandown race track as it grew darker, I munched on a bacon, lettuce, turkey and Stilton dressing wholemeal sandwich and sipped a gin and tonic thinking it was rather British and appropriate.

Southampton, Hampshire, England

Parts of Britian had been hit badly by severe storms and gale-force winds, and Southampton was one of the areas. The station roof was dripping and the waiting room awash, with squally rain.

Tommy is one of the first people I chatted with at VIP, the Virtual Irish Pub chat line, two years earlier. We had become good friends through e-mail, chat and ICQ and speaking a few times on the phone. He cooked an 'English' dinner rather well, and his house was much nicer than he had described.

Over the next few days not only did he walk me all over Southampton, take me with him to the pubs to meet the friends I had heard about, and help me feel at ease sharing Stuart's birthday with fourteen other friends at a wonderful Indian restaurant, he also drove me to New Forest looking for wild animals, across to Stonehenge even though due to ninety mile an hour winds it was closed, (How do you close rocks ?) through villages, Salisbury, and to where he works with IBM. He also gave me the opportunity to collect my e-mail and messages from Paddynet, and organise some banking.

Sunday, January 4th, '98.

Sunday night we walked to a really delightful Old-syle English pub - The Cowherds, and I had their famous 'Beef and Bass Ale Pie - beef and mushrooms in a Bass Ale gravy baked with a puff pastry hat and coat. Served with cheddar mash, carrots and beans'. A lovely treat. A lovely evening, pleasant company, nice wine, interesting conversation.

It was far too short a stay, and maybe one day I can return the favour.

Monday, 5th. January '98.
Southampton/Portsmouth

The rain matched my mood as I sat at Southampton station. The train Tommy had driven me to had been cancelled, the next one meant changing trains. It was wet, dark and cold and the platform roof was still leaking.

Ibis Portsmouth.
Portsmouth, Hampshire, England.

Ringing Patrick from Portsmouth station, I first checked into the nearby Ibis Hotel leaving my luggage, and continued to Northend where a warm Irish welcome and chicken soup was certainly appreciated.

Once Patricks dad arrived home from work, we then were off in the car leaving Martin at home. Up the hills to see the fort overlooking historic Portsmouth harbour, across to the Isle of Wright.

Driving inland, through sunshowers and angry skies, it was a treat to travel narrow winding lanes for a warming drink in the clubhouse of the golf club. A swollen river, lush green greens, towering ancient trees, hedges and older village homes. Soft rain falling in a golden light despite the cold wind.

Driving down around the dockyard, the Royal Naval museum, continental ferry port, the City Museum and records office. The impressive HMS Warrior near the visitors centre. Victory Gate. The birthplace of Charles Dickens. Older buildings, barracks and fortifications well preserved and as part of the landscape as the roundabouts.

The esplanade was closed to vehicles due to the high winds and high seas, yet along the foreshore at Southside the grand old hotels and stately buildings looked wonderful and romantic, even on a cold wintery day.

Portsmouth seemed to have a great deal of civic pride, reflected in well-tended homes, gardens and public areas, little litter, unobtrusive advertising, pleasant shop-fronts, and no grafitti.

Another stop - roulette chips, coffee and sandwiches at the oppulant Grosvenor Casino.

I enjoyed Paddy and Kathleen's company immensely, and hope Patrick didn't feel ignored. His involvement with the National Kidney Foundation has already been written about in the local paper, and raising organ donor awareness in whatever shape or form is surely a good thing.

All seated around the table in the dining room with Christmas cards and tinsel on the walls, the Christmas tree still decorated and alight, we had a real Irish dinner of pork and cabbage surrounded with family mementos, photos and goodwill.

Said my goodbyes to Patrick as he went off upstairs to his computer and his parents ran me back to the hotel, staying for a drink. It was a genuine delight to visit Portsmouth with such generous hosts.

Tuesday 6th. January, '98.
Portsmouth/Waterloo/Euston/Preston/Nelson

Awake to an overcast sky, and an early cooked English breakfast of egg, sausage and bacon. The realisation I leave tomorrow, and not today, has given me an entire day to make the most of. Do I return to London, shopping, exploring, or visiting a place I haven't seen ? Without a connection I don't have my address book, or 'Jude's' contact number, so I ring 'Dataman' instead to ask if he has a gig tonight.

Yes ! With Kevin, his fiddler, at a new pub called the "Thatch and Thistle" in Nelson. Fine, says I, maybe I'll see you there, and off I go to the station.

I was very impressed to be able to sit down at the rail services information counter and simply say where I'd like to go, and what time I'd like to be there, to have it all printed out with options and recommendations in a flash. Not only did I buy a ticket as suggested, I was also able to request the girls at the Portsmouth information centre to book me overnight in Nelson, requesting someplace between the station and the Thatch and Thistle.

And I still have time before my train leaves ? I walk back through Portsmouth City Square, stopping to watch workmen dismantling the huge Christmas tree and thinking of countless other people doing the same on a smaller scale. Pass two Irish pubs. Enquiries at Portsmouth University advises me internet access available only to students, yet there is 'Computer Xroads'. So I visit and book a taxi back to ensure I do not miss my train. This is the most wasted trip so far - twelve minutes of an extra slow connection and me grumbling away, it's discovered the server is down, so please wait. The taxi arrived as I was waiting so nothing was accessed.

Another train - more of the countryside, which had been in darkness on the way south. A taxi at Waterloo across to Euston, and off again !

Being told there was 'nothing really there' I more or less expected a station, fields, a quaint guest house and a shop or two, more fields and a pub 'at the end of the road'.

Nothing could be further from the truth ! Although it was dark for a lot of the journey, there were rows and rows of houses, straight lines and curved, dark tiled roofs with chimney pots, narrow streets and busy motorways, and seemingly everywhere orange neon street lighting.

Changing at Preston, lugging my luggage from platform to platform, I realised it was a longer trip than anticipated, and yes, it was a long way to travel for a night. I had dismissed the idea of travelling to Scotland, and on this railway map it didn't seem that much further !

High above Burnley, the rows of terrace houses reminded me of Ireland - narrow footpaths, no eaves, thick door lintels and window ledges, front doors personalised by colour or design, and the lace curtains.

So arriving in Nelson, finding a friendly taxi rank directly outside the station, and being driven to a house such as I had seen from the train window was wonderful. The shopping centre is even called 'Arndale' ^{PS now re-named 'Admiral'} like at home !

Lovett House,
Nelson, Lancashire England.

A family room, nicely decorated and furnished, with little touches like books on the bookshelf and individual bed lamps to make it cosy.

Leslie and her family not only made me feel warmly welcomed at Lovett House, they went out of their way to accommodate me and make my stay a pleasant one.

Walking to the corner shop with daughter Jenny who was returning to University the following day, I bought a bag of 'Yorkshire mix' boiled sweets. Walking together to the "Thatch & Thistle" to check out the 'lay of the land' prior to spending a few hours there. We chatted our heads off, especially once the internet was mentioned. I had to remind myself I was really visiting to meet another chatter from Paddynet, and if I kept talking he would be finished and long gone before I had a chance to hear him sing.

Leslie kindly drove me back to Surrey Road once I had freshened up and the pub is indeed an impressive-looking place, both inside and out.

Trim cut thatch with a white-washed exterior, plenty of parking in the neat carpark. An entry foyer - more like an air-lock - to trap the heat in and the cold wind out.

Inside, different areas close to the bar, a restaurant serving a full, varied menu, house specialities and a special Sunday menu. Good to see Australian wines featured on this menu - Penfolds 'Glenloth' as house wines, and Killawarra.

So I stayed, listened, enjoyed the music and the atmosphere. Sound equipment in a room set up like a library, with real bookshelves, winged chairs around the fire, and real books. Different models of typewriters on the shelves, comfortable seats and not too crowded. Staff friendly and involved with their jobs. And the music - good ! And I did enjoy myself, even if no-one else recognised "Wild Colonial Boy" or the personalised verse of "The Wild Rover" that went - 'An Australian lass, by the name Jenny G. has just travelled five hours to listen to me' and yes, I did laugh. I also recognised songs I've heard off Mike's yet-to-be-completed recording, and thought of 'Cuttlefish' being in Australia at the same time I was in the north of England.

Time was too short, again, and I caught a taxi back around midnight, and then I spent the next two hours chatting in the kitchen with Leslie about tourism, marketing, and webpages.

Wednesday 7th. January, '98.
Nelson/Preston

This is a day best left in the 'Twilight Zone' of travel experiences.

Didn't recognise the faint tapping as a wake-up knock on the door at 5am, so when I was unable to work the shower with anything but cold water, I gave up. Taxi arrived as booked and off to the station, waiting all alone at an unmanned, dripping station in a cold, strong wind.

The young lass who joined me within a few minutes didn't seem too worried the train was late as there had been a few delays recently. All trains on this line came from Preston, and since the roof had been damaged over Christmas in terrible storms, the timetable had been a bit erratic. Mind you, she left after 40 minutes to 'look for a lift' and I watched as different people arrived, spoke among themselves in low tones, and left.

Striking up a conversation with two workman who seemed to know one another, they were rather shocked to think I'd been there by then, almost two hours. No, no train in any direction - discovering I was looking down the wrong track anyway. My bearings were seriously out - always looking North to the sun, I guess. Seems there were other trains that had not arrived either, and one fella was heading off to the next station 'up the line' to catch a connection there. I had already missed my reserved connection, yet I had my little list of alternatives, and that showed another one which could mean I still checked in at Heathrow at 11am.

A train arrived a little later, the driver totally unaware he was the first train of the day - the ticket conductor impatient to check my ticket. We even stopped along the way, and I kept thinking there would be another flight eventually. Arriving into Preston I had just missed a train to London, so into the supervisors office. I was greeted here by Judith, such a pretty, pleasant lady, and at my comment about expecting a crabby, unshaven slob to be able to yell at, she said she'd see if she could find someone, and we both laughed. As it was now around 9.30am, I was concerned I needed to contact the airlines.

No problem ! Virgin Trains at Preston re-booked my flight the following day, gave me the choice of putting me up there or in London, and meeting expenses until I left. All pleasant, helpful and sincere. Despite whispered comments "Take London" I opted for Preston - another opportunity I would not have had otherwise. It's close to the Lakes district, even though I didn't feel like gallivanting around right then.

The taxi driver also mentioned that over Christmas, when the station roof was badly damaged, the railways organised taxi travel for those unable to reach Glasgow or further - driving himself to deliver one man to his family Christmas day. Yet everyone was quick to grumble and complain, instead of mentioning the good things. While I was in that warm office for almost two hours, many people entered, complained - trains were now cancelled, or two hours behind schedule to some places - two fellas were due for army entrance exams, only held that day. All complaints were dealt with in a very helpful manner, alternatives suggested, and the office was more than happy to provide the telephone to be able to contact others. Yet of the dozen or more loud, angry, critical people, (guests, I bet) few were actually interested in working towards a compromise, and left as angry as they entered. Reminded me of chat.

Off to a nice hotel closeby, the Forte Posthouse, a nice room with a nice view. Pleasant staff and plenty of smiles.

Forte Posthouse,
Preston, Lancashire, England.

Restaurant - french blue with damask serviettes, beautifully draped windows and illuminated pillars, with other pillars in the bar area lit above from inside corded frames. Pale inlaid parquetry joining the different areas. A childrens area, complete with Lego table. Billard table as well as a fully stocked bar.

A pleasant lunch - rump steak, mushrooms, chips and onion rings with a pleasant Californian red wine. Desert of Drambuie ice cream and coffee as the rain falls outside the window in a sunshower.

Bought stamps for my postcards, made a few phone calls and had a nap, waking around the time the shops closed. Caught up with some handwashing, at least, and tried to read.

Went to dinner, and invited myself to join another lady sitting alone - Helen, down from Edinburgh, who works for Virgin Trains ! We had a wonderful time - it was nice chatting with her, hearing about her work, and we swapped travel tales with a better understanding of the other side. As I'd missed lunch with Jude, I never did try English fish & chips either, maybe another time. I did try a 'sticky pudding' from the menu under traditional deserts, and it was really a miniature steamed pudding !

Thursday 8th. January, '98.
Preston/Heathrow

Another early start - did I fall asleep in my clothes, or does it only feel that way ? Taxi arrived at 5.30am and off to Preston railway station, too tired to actually check the little 'Reserved' tags on the seats, instead collapsing into the first seat closest to the door and my luggage.

Awoke around two hours later at Litchfield Trent Valley as the train rapidly filled with businessmen. Awake - and I've missed the cooked breakfast in the dining car and now they do not even have coffee or a skerrick of toast. Serves me right.

As the sky lightens, we do pass green fields, hedges, black-faced sheep, older stone farmhouses, small villages alongside cement works, motorways. and miles of forested woodlands and winter-fallow fields. Estate housing with community gardening plots, and sadly the windows too dirty for any filming.

Prettiest countryside ? Prior to Aspley, with the barges on the canals.

Euston - and struggling with my luggage to the underground, changing across to the Piccadilly line to get to Heathrow. Air Canada or Canadian Air ? Terminal 4, of course. Wrong ! So shuttle bus all the way to terminal 3, losing whatever 'spare' time I had. Air Canada flight 867 to Montreal cancelled due to non-arrival of inbound flight, weather conditions of frozen rain had worsened and now Montreal airport was closed. Rather than re-book for tomorrow and stay another day, on standby AC857 to Toronto instead where weather permitting, I would be able to make an ongoing connection.

Not having an internet connection was bad enough, and without it I was unable to enter information in either my travel planner or on my page, leave messages or e-mail those people I wanted to.

Next stop - Toronto.

How far is it ? - 3559 miles (5728 km)