Pontefract - and not a Liquorice Sweet in Sight

This weekend hasn't been a total disaster. Ok, the cat has given me two sleepless nights so far, and using Wii Fit has caused me to pull every single one of the muscles in my stomach, but today I have had a lovely day in Yorkshire with my second cousin.

It was sort of a spontaneous thing really. I debated the idea of going racing ot Uttoxeter on Sunday, but it's a track I know I've already been to, and going racing can be an expensive day out. Instead, I decided to save myself for today, and travel to Pontefract. I really wasn't sure if I had been there before, it certainly didn't ring any bells, but even if I had it was an easy drive to Leeds and an easy racecourse to find.

On the off chance I got in touch with my second cousin, Jess, to see if she was free. I knew she had never been horse racing before, and taking someone with you is always more fun than travelling alone. She was very keen, and just before lunch we set off on the one hour drive over The Pennines to West Yorkshire. One thing I should have left behind was the sat-nav. I think the only phrase she used was 'in 300 yards keep right. Keep right. At the next junction keep right. Keep right." I was very close to coming off the motorway early just so I could hear her say something different!

We arrived safely at the track just minutes before they opened the gates. From then on it was a perfect day. The sun shone (I burnt to a crisp. That's three race meetings in a row now I've been toasted). Sadly I couldn't pick a winner all day, but Jess managed to prove the old saying of 'beginner's luck', by being paid out three times. Biggest win for her was Hel's Angel (yes that is how it was spelt) in the second race. Winner at 13/2.

The drive home wasn't as pleasant. We left one race early (well it was an 8 race meeting which is very rare, and I wanted to see if I could get ahead of the traffic.) We got to the motorway ahead of the commuters, but a problem at one of the junctions ahead meant we crawled for over 15 miles. Not enough to dampen the day though, I even managed to tell Jess all about Myra Hindley as we crossed Sandleworth Moor.

I head back to Southampton tomorrow night. It certainly hasn't been the weekend I planned, and I can't say I'm still not disappointed that I haven't been able to spend time with Tara....

...but today helped.

p.s. As you enter Pontefract the sign at the side of the road reads:

Welcome to Pontefract, the home of Haribo.

Did you know that?

p.p.s. It's my Mum's birthday today, so happy birthday Mum. She's in Majorca at the mo, so this saves me buying a card :D

Always Say Hello to the Fairies

You see, it serves me right. On my last visit to the Isle of Man, I know I said hello to the little people as I crossed Fairy Bridge, but I am also 100% sure I didn't say goodbye to them when I left. It was the Parish Walk at the time, and we were crawling in traffic. Not giving a greeting to the fairies is said to bring back luck...

...and June 26th 2009 the fairies hit back. Firstly, I had to walk to work through a monsoon. Not just a downpour, or a shower - this was a rainstorm of biblical proportions. It was still raging when I trudged home two hours later.

So I'm back at the flat, doing a passable impression of a drowned rat, and packing for my fantastic weekend in Manchester. Loads of things planned, having Tara on 'my turf' had been the highlight of my social calendar for weeks. Everything set, ready to head off to the bus that will take me to the first of 5 trains...

...and the fairies struck again. Tara sent a text, and after a phone call back, it was all off. Her husband's boss had called hm away to the UK (from Ireland) leaving no one to look after the kids if Tara left too. To say my heart sank is a huge under-estimation. But I had ninety pound train tickets to use, and perhaps I could come up with something else to do in the North-West. At least I was away from the office. I packed everything, even remembering my phone charger, ipod charger, and my portable DVD player for the train with several discs to choose from.

Bus ride went ok, first train to Waterloo was busy but it got me there. Tube ride north to Euston went without a hitch, even the third train to Piccadilly wasn't delayed or too over crowded....

...but the fairies had struck again. What I've failed to mention is that in my haste to catch the bus, I had forgotton to pack a couple of things. Firstly, I hadn't packed any reading material. No book, magazine - not even a pamphlet. No worries, Plan B, I can listen to music or watch a DVD. No I can't. I've forgotton my ipod, and with it, the headphones I'd need for the DVD player. For the first time in exisitance I remember the ipod charger, but go and leave the ipod behind. 5 train jounies with nothing to do but stare blankly out of the window, contemplating fate and nasty fairies.

All whimsy aside, I am truly devestated. I'm not sure it's quite hit home to me yet what all this means. In most circumstances I'd say I need to 'kick the cat', but the face he gave me when I walked through the door sort of implies he's not coming anywhere in kicking distance anyway. There is no one to blame (except the boss who called Tara's husband away, but he's just a faceless pen-pusher). This is just one of life's bitter ironies I suppose.

Well, I do actually blame myself though for turning small treats into monumental occasions. I think it stems from when I used to work two full-time jobs. Back then, a half day off became a holiday. A full day off was treated like I had won the pools. Small surprises were scaled upwards by a factor of twenty or more. I still do it now. My normal existance is so lonely, pointless and meaningless, when something comes along that sounds exciting it suddenly becomes the centre of the universe. I try to hide it (not very successfully, I know) but inside my body is leaping around like a Mexican jumping bean. I had that feeling when I thought I was going to see Tara.

Lets take stock. I'm in Manchester. I have three full days, (and most of Tuesday) to kill. Monday I'll try for a horse-race meeting (always quieter on a weekday). Tuesday I'm hoping to take my second cousin for a pub lunch. It's been planned already, except I think I said Monday to her, so I'll wait to see if she can switch. Weekend, I'm not so sure. A day in the Trafford Centre cinema is a possibility, but with it being the weekend it could get busy....

...I'll keep you all posted.

(p.s. although right now, all I feel like doing is polishing off the case of MGD in the garage and going to bed)

Tickled Pink Part II (The Geek Version)

There was something else to relate to you about my visit to the cricket, but it's more of a geeky post, so I thought it deserved a seperate entry. Those of you who shiver at the thought of mathematics have my permission to skip past this.

Sat behind us were 4 older gentleman. Typical 'toffs' who obviously enjoyed cricket, but found the concept of Twenty20 a step too far. I'll recount a statistical conversation two of them had, named Toff 1 and Toff 2 for the sake of arguing. You have to imagine the upper class accents.

N.B. The sections of text in brackets are just me giving my thoughts as we go along. The sections in bold are the real mathematic theories behind what he was trying to say.

Toff 1: I met this statistical professor last night in the bar and he told me some fascinating mathematical facts.

(Yeah right! I've claimed to be a professor of mathematics in the pub before now, in the hope it'll get me a free drink)

Toff 2: Oh really? such as?

Toff 1: Well, take any two sports teams. Lets say Liverpool and Chelsea. How many times would you think they have to play each other before you could accurately say one is better than the other?

Toff 2: Oh, I don't know, three or four I suppose?

Toff 1. Twenty-three. Isn't that fascinating?

(I rolled my eyes at this point. I think I audibly groaned too. Toff 3 butted in, thankfully with a sensible response.)

Toff 3: But what if the first two or three games are all eight-nil to one side. After three big defeats you know one team is better.

Toff 1: Ah, but each individual game is a random element. They could all just be lucky wins.

(I groaned again. He carried on..)

Toff1: ...and if there is no clearly better team after twenty-three games, they'd need to play over two hundred more before you could claim one team was better than the other.

Ok, I don't know who got the wrong end of the stick, either Toff 1 himself, or the 'Professor' in the first place, but what he should have been talking about is a truely random 50/50 bet. Tossing a coin for instance. If you wanted to see if one side of the coin was bias, after about 20 tosses, if one side was at least eight or nine ahead, there would be an arguement for it being a bias coin. Anyone who remembers Normal Distribution from school should understand what I mean. There is absolutely no way you can apply this to two soccer teams. Toff 3 was spot on by saying the scale of the victories can determine a better side quite quickly. Would Manchester United really need to play Accrington Stanley twenty-three times before you knew which team was better?

(Toff 1, now proud of his new knowledge, had even more 'wisdom' to share with Toff 2)

Toff 1: ...and if those two teams play each other a few times, and one team gets four games ahead, what chance do you think that the other team can overtake them?

Toff 2: Oh, well it'll be harder for sure.

Toff 1: Statisically it would be almost impossible.

(I almost spat out my beer as I choked. He repeated it as though to hammer the point home.)

Toff 1: When a team gets ahead, it's almost statisically impossible to catch them.

(I couldn't see their faces but I assumed Toff 2 was frowning right now)

Ok, I think I know what he was on about, but either he, or the Professor had the wrong end of the stick again. Lets go back to the coin toss. If 'heads' gets three ahead in the race against 'tails' then 'tails' would need to get four in a row to overtake, which is a 1 in 16 chance. Certainly hard, but also certainly not impossible. I think that was the point he was trying to make, the further ahead one side of a random bet gets, the harder it is to catch up, but it's never impossible. Anyone who has ever watched a roulette wheel will testify they've seen 8 or 9 red numbers in a row several times a night. Lets take the University boat race as a sporting example. After the first ever 9 races, Cambridge were 5 victories ahead (7 wins to 2). After the next 17 races had finished, Oxford were 6 ahead (16 wins to 10). Should Oxford have given up after 9 races because 'it was statisically impossible for them to overtake'?

(and then the sensible one of the group finally speaks.....)

....Toff 4: Who's round is it?

Tickled Pink

I feel a bit guilty writing this entry. I'm going to tell you all about the cricket I went to last night, and how much fun it was. Guilty? mainly because I didn't write about the previous occasion when I went with Jackie and Moritz. By the time I got to a PC to write that entry, I had been through hell with work and wasn't in the mood to unleash my personality onto the page. This time it was the opposite - I attended the cricket after a bad day at work, and so it acted as a pick-me-up. So, for the record, both days were just as enjoyable as each other, but here is the story of the most recent.

Ok, first day back in work after my time off. As suspected, a whole host of problems, errors, complaints, whinges and moans to deal with. I was so worried about what was in store I hadn't slept a wink the night before, so when it came to leave the office at 2pm, I was a click away from phoning Moritz and telling him he could take a friend to The Rosebowl instead of me. All I wanted to do was curl up in a small(ish) ball and hide...

...but as I reached for the phone I got a text of Moritz himself, telling me he was available right now if I wanted pre-match drinks in town first. He'd stolen my thunder with a counter offer. I accepted.
The early afternoon sun was fantastic. Sat outside a town centre pub watching the world go by with a quiet pint and a friend. I began to warm to the day and considered myself lucky I hadn't pulled the plug on the event. By half past five we were at the stadium and finding seats.

What followed was a really enjoyable game of Twenty20 cricket. Hampshire batted first, and their run-rate was steady but lower than average. They set a reasonable target of 183 for Middlesex to chase. A very tense game....

...and here comes the best bit of the day.

If you've never seen a Twenty20 game live, or even on television, you might not know that it is a bit of a razzamatazz affair. Load music pumping out of the tannoy system between overs and in the interval; crowds cheering like football fans; mexican waves; the players wearing different coloured shirts like soccer strips. Two and a half hours of sport mixed with entertainment. Each player for the home team (in this case Hampshire) have their own theme tune that they 'walk out' to when they go into bat. Usually something easily recognisable so it gets the crowd pumped. The away side (in this case Middlesex) have to put up with whatever the stadium DJ decides to play on their behalf. As the opening batsmen for Middlesex were introduced over the loudspeaker...

...side note. Hampshire play in stylish dark blue shirts with gold trim down the sides and around the collar. Middlesex play in pink shirts and pink caps. Just pink. They may be the defending Twenty20 champions, but it's still pink....

...the DJ switches on their entrance music and out blares...

...The Theme to the Pink Panther. Henry Mancini's beautifully orchestrated tune. Within the first three or four notes the entire 20,000+ crowd were 'Do Do'ing along and laughing their heads off. From that point on, everytime a batsmen was given out, 'Another One Bites The Dust' by Queen came on, but as the new batsmen stepped forward it was immediately switched back to Panther. They often say that the crowd helps the home side to victory, but in this case...

...hats off to the DJ and Mr Mancini for removing any dignity Middlesex ever hoped to have.

p.s. There is an extra story to regale you with here. If you ever find yourself at The Rosebowl and visit one of the trailer 'bars' that surround the ground, always check they've given you what you ordered. With many establishments like this, most of the pints are pre-poured to save time, and they just have one version of cider, lager and bitter available. First round: "Two lagers please". Back to the seats to discover one of them is actually bitter. (Worst thing about it is, it was my pint and it took me half of it to realise. I just kept blaming the bad taste on the fact it was pre-poured and in a plastic glass!)

Second round: "Two lagers please". Well they can't make the same mistake twice can they? Back to the seats I go. My pint is now cider. Ok, at least this time I recognised the taste the moment I took my first mouthful, and I don't actually mind cider, but two out of two orders wrong, and twice out of two it's me who ends up with the erroneous pint.

p.p.s. Just remembered another tale (told you it was a great night). Twenty20 cricket is a fast paced game and needs big hitters. Lots of 4's and 6's required if you want to win. During Middlesex's innings their big number 3 batsmen swung at a loose ball and it sailed high and long heading for the boundary. Heading my way. Straight towards me. Faster and faster. For a split second I went into a major panic attack. Do I stop it? duck? Dodge? Instinctively I lifted my pint up and turned my body sideways to protect it. As it reached I realised it was going slightly to my left, out of harms way.

I watched as the ball flew like a comet into the crowd no more than 5 feet from me. Would a fan be brave enough to catch it? Would it hit someone? No. It smashed into a full pint of bitter, shattering the plastic and sending the ale everywhere! A spectacular sight (especially as I was just out of the firing line). The fielder who had jogged over to retreive the missile couldn't stop giggling...

...neither could I.

"It's all gone quiet - too quiet", said Custard

I've spent the vast majority of the last two days in bed. It was always planned that way, partially as I'd knew I'd need to recover from the excesses of Fraggle Rock, and partially because I needed to brace myself properly for the horrors that inevitably await me in my e-mail inbox tomorrow....

...but it's too quiet.

It's taken me a good while to realise that whilst I've been away, the road-works have gone from outside these apartments. Well, not exactly 'gone', just moved further down the road almost out of earshot. It makes a huge difference to afternoon naptime.

What is does mean now though is I can hear passing pedestrians perfectly. I can listen to blaring car stereos as they wait at the lights with their window rolled down, I can hear the drunken revellers heading back home from town and surprisingly of all I can hear every cruise ship sounding their hooter when they leave the docks on another voyage.

Funny thing is I don't know which is worse. I know the sound of road drilling and cement block cutting is on the high scale of annoyance, but at least they are constant. When it's conversations, music, horns etc. you become nosey and stay awake to hear what the next interruption might be.

I still use the technique of putting on a DVD at low volume, some film or TV series I know backwards. It's my version of the 'white noise' idea and it really does help. The disadvantage of that is when the show ends it returns to the menu screen and the background music repeats ad nauseam....

...and I wake up humming the theme tune to Midsomer Murders or Jonathan Creek

So Much to Tell, So Little Time

Can't believe it's been 10 days since I last spoke to you all. Then again, if you've been keeping tabs on my busy social schedule, you'd know why.

So what has there been since your last blog update?

There has been a race meeting in glorious sunshine in Bath. All four of us returning to Southampton with crimson faces and empty wallets. We got to see a little of the city centre too, a beautiful place. Reminded me of Chester, only slightly posher and more expensive.

24 hours later it was another race meeting, more glorious weather, but this time in Salisbury. One of the clan sensibly went to Superdrug for a bottle of Factor 50 so at least the scarlet faces didn't get any redder. Such a pretty country course. I really can't figure out why I haven't visited it before considering the train ride was direct and less than 40 minutes long. Maybe it was because it was family day, or perhaps it was the heat, but the queue for the ice-cream van was always three times longer than the one to the bar.

24 hours later and it was time for all four of us to jet to the Isle of Man. From there it was 5 days of catching up with old friends, possibly for the last time. I didn't get to see everyone I wanted to (sorry Simon and Laura) but I did manage to see some extra faces I never thought I'd have a chance to meet again. Highlights?

The full day with Ali in Peel. I can't say the double sambuka shots were a sensible idea, but that was a fantastic day nontheless.

Seing the other Ali for the first time in years. One of the people I first knew on the island.

Spending time with Sarah and Caoimhe. Losing at Super Scrabble however will not go down as a highlight!

Meeting baby Evie for the first time.

..oh the list could go on for ever, thank you to the island for making the trip one of the best.

So what now?

Well there is another cricket game on Tuesday for me to visit, then it's back up to Manchester to house-sit and meet up with Tara. That's going to be a lovely few days. Less than a week after that and it's off to London with lumpy Jackie for a music concert....

...and there's still more to come.

p.s. on a personal note, my deepest sympathy goes out to my brother-in-law and family.

Just call me Mystic Meg

I refer you to a quote from my blog entry called "New Friends, New Horizons" from the end of April:

As for Malta, I am being drawn more and more towards it...I fear he's trying to close down the Southampton office. He'd never say as much, but give it 6 months and I'd wager it will be mentioned.

Do I need to explain what happened when I met up with the boss today at lunchtime?...

Good job no one took me up on the wager, otherwise they'd be out of pocket right now. The two staff who would be left have both been offered jobs in Malta (although guess who is lumbered with breaking the news to them). If they turn down the new role, they will officially be made redundant at the end of August when I move over.

So far I've been able to tell one of them in person, and to say he took it badly would be an understatement. He's just moved flat, and signed a 6 month lease - two weeks earlier and he might have given the offer serious consideration. From my point of view, I'm worried about his effort in the office now. What motivation has he got? Would you care about errors or work rate if you know the job ends in a couple of months?

I have the pleasure of telling my other colleague at 6am tomorrow morning. I think this time there is a slim chance he might consider the move. His parents live in Dubai, and he just shares a flat with his brother. He's a keen diver and one thing Malta has in abundance is clear blue, warm water....

...I'll keep you posted.

p.s. As for me, the office closure means nowt. It changes nothing about my move except I will be running the Malta office only - no remote managerial skills required. I also have lost my safety net. If Malta doesn't work out, I have to resign, there is no relocating back to the south coast.

Hey ho. A new challenge awaits us around every corner.

The Moon's a Balloon

With me heading off to Fraggle Rock in a few days, it seemed pointless doing a 'big shop' or to get a Tesco delivery. Any fresh food wouldn't survive, so I'd only be buying frozen or tinned stuff, and that can wait 'til I get back...

..so what have I been eating for the past few days I hear you ask? Surely not take-aways again?

Well actually, no. I've been going through the cupboard eating all those packets and canned stuff I've bought in the past 'for emergencies' but never got round to opening. You know the kind I mean, tins of meatballs in gravy, Tesco value beef stew, some strange Japanese super noodles (I actually don't remember buying those, but I think they came from Lidl), Chunky Chicken in white sauce, steak and onion pies - even a tin of baked beans with sausages (trade description will be getting a snotty letter from me soon. Baked beans with sausages implies more than one sausage....and I only got one measly chipolata in my can!)

I have one and a half days left to go before I don't need to feed myself. I think tea tonight is a chunky vegetable soup with a thick slice or two of homemade bread accompanied by a glass of orange and passionfruit juice. Tomorrow lunch is the rest of the bread, turned into Welsh Rarebit using the last of the mature cheddar and sprinkled with oregano (ok, I know it should be paprika, but I've only got oregano in my cupboard). Please don't choose to pay me a surprise visit in the next two days....

....there is only enough for one!

p.s. On a completely different topic, (and the reason for the blog title) - if you ever see a loose balloon drifting round the floor I can guarantee everyone that passes it will kick it. Young, old, male, female, it can't be avoided. It's one of the fundamental laws of nature. There was one loose in the pub yesterday lunchtime, and it was lovely to watch it's journey round the carpet :o) Even the old dears who come in for the fish and chip special gave it a whollop.

Snap Out of It!!

God I'm a depressive aren't I? I need to snap out of it. I have so much to look forward to at the mo.

It's only three days til the boys come over from the Isle of Man so we can do a double header of horse race meetings, Bath and Salisbury. Still haven't worked out how to pronounce 'Bath' properly. Is it 'Bath' to rhyme with 'wrath', or is it supposed to rhyme with 'hearth' with seventeen 'Rs' in the middle?

On Monday I fly back with the lads for one last visit to Fraggle Rock. I already have a busy schedule lined up, but I'm especially looking forward to the Wednesday where I get to spend a full day with Ali. She's not had the best of times recently either, so I think it will be a good chance for us to put the entire world to rights. Well, that's the plan at the beginning of the day - by the end we'll probably sound like Stadler and Waldorf from The Muppets whinging at everyone and everything!

Less than a week after I fly back and it's up to Manchester to house-sit and spend a few days with Tara. Also a chance to see a mutual work-mate from 'the old days' in Stockport. I dread to think how long ago it is since I last saw Jacqui (yes, yet another Jacqui!). Makes me feel old to try and work it out.

You see, that's me being positive - looking forward to nice things. Do you honestly want to know what is really going through my head? It's the part I mentioned above '...less than a week after I fly back and it's up to Manchester...'. That's a week in work after being away from it. The very thought of what my email inbox will look like, or what 'he' will bombard me with as soon as I log on makes me shudder. But as the title says...

...Snap out of it Geoff!

Where Did I Go Wrong?

Right now I should be blogging about my fantastic trip to the cricket with Jackie and Moritz. Right now I should be telling you witty anecdotes about the wierdos on the bus or the 'Lord' who managed to seduce two scantily dressed girls right in front of us... but I can't.

This time last year, I was writing blog entries almost every day, but right now all I can think about is how depressing work is becoming. My 'boss' has finally crossed over to become an official dictator and it's killed morale across the whole office. Problem is, I'm in the firing line in two directions.

He has at least a dozen things to say every day, and he has to direct them to me, for me to pass on to the rest of the team. Of the 12 things he wants to change, 11 of them are usually unexplainable and will upset at least one member of staff... so guess who gets it in the neck when my colleagues need someone to whinge to.

Worst scenario is when I have a day off. I come in to a barrage of emails from him, followed by a multitude of complaints from everyone else. It makes me dread coming into the office.

Latest trick is he demands to see the rota when I've set it before I send it out to everyone else. First time I did this, it was only for two weeks, but he still sent it back with 16 changes. Not 'suggestions', actual changes. When you suggest he does the rota himself, he claims he has 'too much on, and he's happy for me to do it.' (incidently, his version of the rota caused more complaints and bad morale than mine did)

...and morale is the key to this. Not a single member of staff, either in Southampton or Malta is happy right now. The only one who is smiling is the new German guy, but as he's got his tongue in a certain hole where sun can't access, I've given up worrying about him.

I know I'm going to Malta because I have no choice, but if things don't change soon, it could be a very depressing experience. I really do want to make the best of a bad job, and enjoy the experience, but right now, I have no inclination to do anything for this company....

...ok, be positive Geoff... there is a world of things to look forward to right now.

The Face That Lunched a Thousand Chips

I've been told before I have an expressive face. It's not boastful, or big-headed - I just have the ability to show a range of emotions with just the flick of an eyebrow, or narrowing of my eyes. Sad, melancholy, cheeky, mischeaveous, excited, thrilled, nervous, petrified - you name it, I can pull it off...

...and yesterday, on the train from Euston to Manchester I think I proved it with an old lady.

I was on the train and in my seat early. Opposite me, an old lady got on with a younger woman who spoke in a gentle american accent. She fussed over her for a while, helping her with her bags, making sure she had the booklet she wanted and then said her goodbyes and got off the train. (How she did that I don't know. You can't get onto the platform at Euston without a valid ticket, and they don't sell platform tickets anymore..this isn't the 1950's after all!)

Back to the plot. The american lady has left, they've have waved their goodbyes through the window, and the train pulls out of the station....and then the old lady bursts into tears.

This wasn't a loud howling banshee wail, but it was a full sob. The kind of sob that makes your shoulders lift up and down and your head droop. She took out a tissue and turned her head towards the window to hide her embarrassment. If you've ever sat on a train, you'll know that windows act like mirrors when at speed, so her tear-stained face was still fully in view to me.

I looked across, stared straight into the eyes of her refelection and smiled. Not a cynical 'ha ha' smile, but a smile that said:

'I understand. You've just had a weekend in London in lovely weather visiting a relative. Perhaps a son or nephew you haven't seen for a long time. You've done so many things you never dreamed you'd do - visited Harrods and Hamleys, had a meal in a West End restaurant, perhaps even taken in a show. From the booklet I see you have on your lap you spent time at the Dicken's Museum and would have loved to spend even longer there. But now it's Monday. Your son has had to go to work, but his new wife has kindly brought you all the way to the station and made sure you are settled. But it's a sign it's all over. You are heading back alone to the North-West to what? A home? Your own home that feels cold and empty? Whatever it is, it's nothing compared to the three days you've just spent in London, and it's got to you. It's ok, I understand'.

Not a single word actually spoken outloud - just one smile.

Her reflection looked straight back at me and saw my face looking at her. She turned to face me for real and gave a single shrug and an embarrassed giggle. She wiped her eyes, but before returning to her booklet she smiled. Her smile said:

'Thank you, I know I'm being silly, but I could never afford to make this kind of trip until he kindly offered to pay for my train ticket. I've done so many things in such a short space of time, things I'd only dreamed of, or seen on TV. It was the first time I had met his wife too, but I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to meet her again, or their first child. Thank you for caring.'

...but again, not a word was spoken. We both just knew.