I land in Manchester at sunset so I get to see the typical England houses aligned on a ordered scheme that makes Manchester’s suburbs look like a Monopoly board. My left ear popped so loud when I did a Vasalva maneuver and felt so full afterwards that I entertain myself with funny thoughts on being a deft kid’s surgeon. I only think about not being able to listen to music a worrisome amount of time later. Haven’t I switched off yet or is it that much part of me?
As usual I didn’t plan much. I booked the flight and checked in when I got the notification email. A. was the one texting me every single day of the past week with the countdown.
So it’s no wonder that only when strolling around the airport, searching for a train, it hits me that the currency is different in your Majesty’s lands. I even draw some Euros before my departure…. 🙄
The train leaves from platform 4b but I see no plaque with 4b on it. The blond girl at 4a’s tells me it’s the line at my back but seeing no train there leaves me suspicious so I keep walking. There it is. B after a.
The train leaves exactly when I find a seat. Destination: Manchester Piccadilly.