Today, our last day in London and the UK, we spent on a train. It was not just any train, no, but the Pullman Express, a very retro, very posh, and very bumpy train from the olden days. We were treated to large chairs that would typically be found in a well-appointed living room and a set of china that was scary to use, for fear of breaking it. And the food and drink...divine. Cherry wine to start - anyone ever had that? It's, as you may imagine, quite sweet and certainly not meant to accompany a meal or to have in glasses larger than our tiny little tea cups. It was ever so tasty, though. Champagne and wine followed, neither of which Mom drank. I did, but so sparingly that we gave 3/4 of a bottle to our fellow guests across the aisle. My vegetarian fare did the trick and Mom let me know that, despite not having a real taste for lamb, her dinner (which was lamb, you see) has won best meal of the trip!
Oh, and here's another thing that happened. Someone was murdered! Yes, we were part of a murder mystery train excursion, through the rural bits of the UK and the not so rural bits too. (Mom actually believed me when I said that the train just circled through London proper for five hours but she wants me to tell everyone that she was very tired at the time. We actually did see the countryside and the various country things that go along with the country.) Anyway, this lady was murdered before we were on the train and then all of the suspects hung out with us so we could be detectives and find the killer. Mom and I really sucked at that part, but it was entertaining throughout the food fest and bumpy old school train excursion. If you're interested, the murderer turned out to be Mom. Who knew?
Okay, here's some more about tipping. We get on this very expensive and intimidating-looking train, all set up to impress (you'd think I'd be used to this by now, but no, still very awkward -- can't wait for chipped plates and old plastic cups again). And while perusing the menu, I noticed a little note that said, "Tipping is at your discretion and will be shared amongst the whole crew. It has not been added to your bill". So surprise! Tipping is happening again. And I knew immediately that it was gonna be a rough one. I had no more pounds (the money kind) since we're leaving tomorrow. But, I did have a wallet full of Euros. I debated with Mom whether to tip with Euros or leave no tip at all. Seemed only fair to tip, right? So when the awful time came, I handed over my Euros and apologized. The waiter was maybe 20 years old and he looked at them in surprise and said, "wow, I haven't seen one of these in a really long time." I know, young man, I know. Now you have to go find a place to change your currency in order to get a pint after work. I try so hard and yet.....
After departing the train station, I tried to score an Uber to get us back to the flat. In fact, I was able to get two! They both bailed on me, canceling the trip. One of them actually drove right by us and then just kept going? Mom's knee was hurting and I was giving her a literal helping hand, bringing us to the part of the day when things start to go downhill quickly. Then I learned something new. In London, when there are two red lines surrounding the curb of the street (they spell it kerb here - I kinda like it), that means that under no circumstances can a car stop for a passenger. Exceptions are made for taxis. And we were surrounded by double red lines. They kept going and going. So, as a hail mary (actually as a hail cab) I waved down the driver of this very large 6 passenger taxi and first asked if he was available (is a taxi available when its light is on or off? Why do I never know things?). Yes, he certainly was. But he was also in traffic, about to turn right, so we needed to get in quick. I had no trouble with this requirement, but the gimpy sore-kneed mom was not so lucky. It was a big leap to get in, sort of into a shuttle more than a cab. So I did what any good daughter would do and pulled hard at her arm to hoist her up into the thing, cane akimbo, other arm flailing, knees screaming for some IcyHot or BenGay (wait, is that for joint pain or hemorrhoids? Let me know) or something. Success, though, because I am now writing about this miracle cab that took us away from the red line district (Note: you can see Hamilton London within the red lines!) comfortably curled up on our rented couch. And now, we pack, getting ready for our trip on the EuroStar tomorrow, speeding right under the English Channel and on to France. Oui Oui!
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