I took the six o'clock train from my preferred station rather than the nearest one. My station is about a mile and a half from my house. The walk is invigorating. It's the one opposite the record shop and a very good full-English breakfast place,. Closed.
I had eaten egg and bacon before leaving because I knew the shops and cafes would be closed. In this, Italy is much to be preferred. There is always a bar open somewhere and they keep proper hours, nice and early.
I was carrying about 14 pounds in a knapsack, and walking with my regular cane. I think walking with a cane is sensible for me, because I feel a bit unsteady sometimes. It could be psychological and it surely is, in part, but my muscles don't seem to respond as readily as would be needed to have good balance. I have been exercising and walking 4 miles every day for the past 4 months in the attempt to correct this, and sometimes I can walk very freely and I put the cane across the top of my satchel. But I always get it out again when the ground becomes slippery or uneven. It is also very helpful for crossing roads. Drivers are generally more attentive if they see an elderly man.
I learned recently that it is ill-advised to use the expression " elderly man". I am to refer to myself as an older man and I will do that in the future. It is actually important to sound compos mentis and there is nothing wrong with injecting a bit of art into the practice of speaking. And I would like to leave the cane at home sometimes. It may be a question of practice.
Today, a cane is perfectly suitable for walking in the hills. It is my father's hiking cane. He would never use it unless he had his hiking boots on his feet.
The train was almost empty and thus very comfortable. I could choose any seat and spread my arm across the backrest.
It is already light at that hour in the summer months.
There are many stations and stops on the line, so I had plenty to look at, with a few people on the platforms and some train staff, or maybe it was the guard.
It was more luxurious than the little train I used to take in Italy when I stayed with my friend out of town. On that train, you had to go and knock on the door of the driver's cabin and organize your ticket on boarding if you had been unable to buy one (there was no machine on the platform). I found out later and I apologised. I said I didn't know about it. It was a wartime train and the local people called it by a moniker. Everybody knew about it and said they liked it, but they avoided it and drove their cars, so mainly young folks and poor people used the train.
I was headed for a small village I knew well, because it had been home to my mother and father for the last forty years of their life.
It's still called a village, and even though it has grown quite a bit it's hemmed in by the green belt, a golf course, two busy arterial roads, the railway, and the two wooded hills that overlook it.
Those hills were my destination, and I planned to visit the more easterly of the two. When I reached my station I checked my kit on the platform, shouldered the knapsack, and set off.
I peered hopefully down the high street, which I only had to cross, to see if the new trendy coffee bar was already open and I thought I saw some signs of life, so I strolled down to check. It wasn't too far and a coffee would be good.
I got lucky - they weren't open but the woman that runs it made me a coffee anyway. She was hot. Cougar figure and stance. I think she was running the place with her husband who was perhaps also present because someone called out a question and she turned to reply.
Men hit on women like her all the time. Especially if they don't know she's married. But maybe she isn't. A married woman should be more discreet. She shouldn't give her husband any cause for concern. But in the modern world, marriages are just longer long-term relationships and mostly end in a few years. Or are declared to have ended by some petty scribe lacking any such authority.
I was glad I had gone in. The coffee was great and she was nice.
I left after about 10 minutes and went back up the high street and then turned right. This is where the road starts to climb, but I kept up a good pace and took a longish break when I got to the bench near the top. I now had to cross a busy road, but there are lights for pedestrians on both carriageways so it's quite safe.
I pressed on through a small cluster of more modern homes and then into the lane, where the houses are stylish, larger, and older. The setting is rural, although very near the action available in the city. I once considered applying for a house in the second picturesque lane leading to te farm. The accommodation was too cramped and costly for me in the end. It was a tiny cottage with stone floors and a fireplace. I looked at the advert longingly for a couple of weeks.
...work in progress
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