As we’re now officially designated ‘elderly’ by government departments, statisticians and journalists, it’s perhaps unsurprising that I have developed an almost pathological aversion to Wasting Food. This means that going away anywhere results in a stressful bout of Trying to Avoid Throwing Anything Away.
Lunch on Monday was something if a triumph – a confection, no less, of red onions, sweet potato, and red pepper, topped with five different varieties of slightly stale cheese and a thick layer of brown breadcrumbs. And in a flash of inspiration, the half-loaf of stale white bread was consigned to the freezer, destined for a bread and butter pudding when we come back.
It felt as though the 3-coach, stop -at-every-station train we boarded at Newcastle for the 3-hour journey to Manchester Airport didn’t quite match the aspirations of our project. For some reason, we had to wait in the rain on the platform for 15 minutes before the train operatives, as I believe they are now known, deigned to open the doors to let us board.
Ian asked about Wifi. Having already delivered the disappointing news that a cup of tea wouldn’t be available until we had passed York, the train man placed a friendly hand on Ian’s shoulder and said ‘Wifi? This is t’Transpeninne Express, lad.’
So now we’re at Manchester Airport, or Ringway as we elderly Mancunians know it.
And it’s the same temperature in Florida as it is in Newcastle.