That Which Is Sorely Missed...

It was earlier this week when I, for the first time, boarded a train for the whole of this year. The last time I bought a ticket for use on the railways was early December of last year (2020) to make a journey to Camden Town in North London to buy Christmas presents for the family - only ending up not distributing them in person on Christmas morning due to the third national lockdown initiated by our Government just before Christmas, thus wrecking the plans made by families up and down the land. Furthermore, right now, which is six months later, a wrapped Christmas present lies unopened in our lounge. Meant for one of our nieces, indeed, Santa Clause either forgotten about it or he had to isolate himself after becoming infected with Covid.

Southwest Trains - the first ticket bought this year. 

June 21st, which is also the Summer Solstice, is meant to be Freedom Day, when restrictions will be lifted and the return to normality. But whether I will still be compelled to wear a mask when inside a public facility, or we all shall be free from those wretched face-nappies, I would have to wait and see. One thing I do know: From June 22nd onwards, the nights will be drawing in again on a long, slow slide back to the cold, winter days when once again it will be time to pull the Christmas tinsel out of the cupboard. 

And the population here in the UK is divided into two opposing opinions. According to a YouGov poll, more than 60% of the British population who participated thinks it's too early for restrictions to be lifted. Therefore, I pity those who were in the remaining 38% who were optimistic enough to take a family holiday to Portugal - only for that country to be taken off the Green List, to be downgraded to Amber, which now means that by next week, everyone returning home must quarantine for ten days, along with further tests.

With scores of tourists cutting their holidays short, so to beat the deadline on Tuesday, I can only recall one occasion when I had to cut my holiday short. That was in 1979 when I took a trip to Llandudno in North Wales for a few days. Unfortunately, I can't remember the exact reason for cutting it short. However, coming to think of it, it was most likely to do with my stay at the hotel. But with what is now referred to as a staycation, there were no hassles with flights, airport security, luggage holds, passports or boarding passes. Just the return train ticket to London Euston.

But, by thinking back, I have a clearer memory of the hotel I stayed in. It was a typical off-the-street approach to the reception desk after walking a short distance from the town's terminus station. I was offered a rather drab-looking single bedroom in the loft at this family-owned Bed & Breakfast hotel. That night, I became aware of the drip, drip, drip of what looks to be rainwater from the ceiling near the bed, just missing the foot end. The next morning, I filed a complaint.

The owner at reception apologised and explained that there is a roof leak over that room and it's awaiting repair, and he assigned me to another room, one which was far more comfortable and homely-looking. However, I felt very uneasy. If the proprietor had already known about the roof leak before assigning me that room, then why on earth did he? Ah! Perhaps it was because I presented myself wearing denim and casuals. Tut! Tut! I should have turned up in a business suit and tie!

At breakfast, I was treated with extra courtesy by a young waiter, who fussed over me as if to make sure that I was a prioritised customer. Perhaps he was already aware that I had an uncomfortable night, and he wanted to make sure that my stay in Llandudno would be as enjoyable as can be.

The Great Orme at Llandudno is a geological phenomenon that aroused my interest. Perhaps, a mountain of limestone in its own right, a cable car led to its 207-metre summit from near the pier, and on a clear day, I was able to see the Isle of Man, some 65 -70 miles, approx 110 km away from where I was standing, along with the higher peaks of the Lake District, some 70-80 miles, approx 122 km, north of the Great Orme. I suppose my message for any flat-earthers reading this blog is that neither the Isle of Man nor the peaks of the Lake District could be seen from sea level. At least, that is what I remember.

Even the resort itself boasts two beaches, one on each side of the peninsula which juts out into the Irish Sea. Geologically speaking, the fact that the Great Orme itself is the headland is remarkable. It was once an island, separated from the mainland before the sea washed in enough silt that was deposited from the mouth of the River Conwy over the years to eventually form the peninsula - on which the resort was built.

The Great Orme, taken 2018.

That evening, I returned to the hotel. I approached the bar for an evening drink, and there, in casual, off-duty clothing, sat the waiter who served me that morning. We started talking, and during our conversation, he expressed his wish to move out of the area and relocate to London. After a drink or two, he invited me to his room. Very unusual, I know, but in my naivety, I followed him in.

It was a nice and comfortable-looking room, but to me, the penny dropped. I made my excuse, left, and headed for my own room. 

This was not the first time this sort of thing occurred. It happened during the Greyhound Bus service stop on the route from Amarillo to Flagstaff, to visit the Grand Canyon in 1978, as well as in Israel in 1976. Oh well, the ins and outs of Travel. But I ponder on why these men think I'm attracted to them. I believe it might be my accent or the way I communicate, along with my friendliness. This gives a false impression that I'm sexually attracted to them when I'm actually not. They even have a name for this kind of person in their own vocabulary - a Pseudosexual. 

The next morning, I was served by the waiter like all other guests were served - with courtesy but nothing intimate. Rather, I sensed an air of contempt, and I wondered whether I should have been more complicit. It was also the day I made my way - quite a long walk - to the Little Orme, a headland at the other end of Llandudno Bay. True to its name, it was smaller in size and of a lower height, yet nevertheless, it still provided an excellent day out and a good hike.

The next morning the waiter wasn't on duty, and I assume that he's having a day off. As somebody else had taken his place, I felt that it was time for me to check out and board the train home - a day or even two days before my original schedule to return home. Yet I felt a sense of loss in doing so. Therefore, I can understand how these people must feel when making their choice to cut short their holidays in Portugal to avoid quarantining.

 

Another opportunity did arise for us to visit Llandudno, which was in 2018. This time, we spent a few days in Conwy, a short train ride from the resort's station. With Alex in a wheelchair, it was very difficult to attempt to reach the summit of the hill. And we didn't. Instead, we spent just a day there, including a swim in the sea and a walk along the esplanade and onto the pier which offered splendid views of both the Great and Little Ormes with the bay joining both. Although she had expressed her wish for her to return, we recall the last return journey. As the train flew through Rugby Station, the motion caused her back to flare up in pain, and there was little we could do until the train pulled into Euston, from where she was taken by taxi to a nearby hospital to receive an intravenous painkiller. 

But this time, we are better prepared. With a supply of Paracetamol, Co-Codamol, Ibuprofen, and in the worst case, Oramorph, we feel more confident with long train journeys. Maybe, once this Coronavirus pandemic subsides, we can plan to travel more regularly.

To cut one's holiday short because a greater restriction is suddenly imposed by the Government is one kettle of fish. But in the past year of lockdowns, there is one facet of life I truly miss - our weekly church attendance. True enough, I still remained stubbornly anti-church for the first year after my conversion to Christ towards the end of 1972. But when I joined St Jude's in Brixton in 1973 (which, by the way, I came across by accident) the idea of church attendance became ingrained in my life. After a year at St Jude's Anglican, I was recommended to try Bracknell Baptist Church, and I joined them in the Spring of 1975 and remained until 1989. This was followed by several months of no church at all until a friend recommended Ascot Baptist Church, which I joined in 1990 and remained to this day.

My love for the church is as much as I love to travel. Over the years, I have watched Ascot Baptist Church transform into Ascot Life Church, a name it has chosen for itself when we moved from our original building in North Ascot to the Paddock Restaurant at the main racecourse. This move was due to the growth in the size of the congregation until our original building became too small to accommodate our Sunday services.

Due to the rise in the pandemic, all physical meetings came to a halt during Spring 2020. After this, we started an online virtual service, where we all stayed at home to watch the computer screen. This form of communication had never held a candle to the real thing, but it was better than no communication at all. It's as if Providence had carefully waited until our technology was developed enough for such advanced communication to be available. Then came the pandemic. Had the virus spread just a few years earlier and a series of lockdowns stopped our meetings altogether, it would have been a lot worse, with all contact lost, save for an occasional phone call.

Zoom and virtual meetings had kept our spirits ongoing throughout the isolation. However, back in the summer of last year, during a pause in lockdowns, I managed to have a one-to-one talk with two of our Elders at Starbucks Coffee. With one of them, we met over coffee on quite a few occasions. Young enough to be my son, he recognised my wisdom gained by personal experience, hence I was able to offer him advice. His humbleness as a church elder has raised my admiration of him, hence making me feel fully at home at Ascot.

Ascot Life Church

Alex too is fortunate to have two ladies come to visit our home at regular but also at different times. Usually, I go out, and "leave the two ladies to chat at their heart's content" - without a man in their way. During the lockdown, all this was suspended, and only an occasional phone call had to suffice.

It's the kind of fellowship I miss badly. If our Government will be able to lift restrictions once and for all, and proper physical services can resume - without wearing masks! - then how wonderful that will be. Once again, I'll be part of a family - because that is what a church is all about - God's family.

It's a family I have missed so sorely throughout the months of lockdowns. But I hope it's the will of God for us all to meet again and it will be His pleasure for us to be together once again.