ONE Buy a cardboard ticket at the ticket office, preferably in advance. There was an outcry when it was suggested money could be saved by closing all the ticket offices. Few passengers understand the complexity and pricing of tickets, so it is easier to just tell a human being where and when you want to go. At Bournemouth mainline station they are used to holiday makers, overseas students, seniors and perhaps other passengers who would try the patience of a saint. I always find a friendly face to suggest the best route and give handy tips, such as your sister from Australia can have a senior rail card as well.
TWO Get a rail card if you are eligible, there are all sorts, from students to senior, you pay for them, but soon make a saving with a few journeys.
THREE Travel to and from a mainline station if you can. Trains are more frequent and you may catch a faster train that does not stop everywhere. There is also a better chance of getting to your destination or back home. When our train from Waterloo was abruptly terminated at Southampton we were pondering what problem had arisen, when it was announced that the next train was for Bournemouth only. Pity the poor passengers who were heading for tiny stations in the New Forest. When I was going from Margate to Victoria we were late leaving, then somewhere along the line it was decided time could be made up by not stopping at most of the stations! Unless you were going to Bromley or Victoria you had to get off at the next station and wait for a slow train.
Apart from the above, there is also the travel experience to consider. My nearest station is dire with MPs, councillors and locals always fighting for improvements. There is a long flight of stairs, fine for keeping fit, but not with buggies and luggage. No lift, no café, no toilets, mostly no staff and a record of suicides – the visiting pastoral care team will tell you to stay away from the edge of the platform. Meanwhile at Bournemouth there can be delays or problems, but plenty of staff to ask; even if they don’t know what’s going on either you can have a friendly chat. There is also passenger assistance to get on and off the trains. For the writer or photographer there is always plenty of Life going on and passengers even weirder than yourself.
FOUR Now you have arrived on the day of your journey you will see why it’s good to buy a cardboard ticket in advance. People are waving their phones around trying to get a signal for the ticket on their phone so they can get through the barrier. Others are causing a queue at the ticket office because their phone has run out of power and they can’t get at their ticket and their train is going in three minutes.
FIVE Ask for help from a human. Even following my advice there can be problems. One time my ticket went in the machine, came out, but the barrier did not open. Staff let me through, but the ticket was for two train rides and the Underground, what if it didn’t work on The Tube? It didn’t, but there were staff at the barriers, cheerful staff who said that was always happening. If you are battling with luggage or a rucksack larger than yourself, they will let you through the gate.
SIX If you are going on the London Underground check the map and the signs telling you which direction for your station. Don’t go the wrong way round on the Circle Line or north on the Northern Line when you are meant to be going south. If you notice you are going past the wrong stations, get off at the next station, looking like a cool regular alighting at your intended station. We did this on the Metro in Paris and did manage to end up in the right place… Do not panic, just make your way to the right direction platform.
SEVEN Don’t lose your ticket. Keep your ticket and your phone in a money belt, under several layers of clothing if you are neurotic, but easily accessible so you don’t look like a nervous traveller.
EIGHT Don’t do everything I tell you. You might well get all sorts of bargains in advance on line by booking yourself on specific trains or discovering it is cheaper to buy three tickets for one journey staying on the same train.
Visitors coming and going Chez Tidalscribe, but here’s something to think aboutwhile I’m busy…
While I was away I was idling away a few minutes on my phone and was surprised to get on ChatGPT. I had no intention of asking it to write my novel for me, but I would just see if it would make a picture of flowers and bees, perhaps a picture of a woman enjoying gardening ( age inserted ) – doesn’t look like me.
How about a beach hut, me at my beach hut, ask for purple hair and round down my age...
She looks fun, but it’s not me.
I’ll ask Chatterbox how to use my own photos…oil painting that looks better than my real garden.
Now my nineties friend wants a painting of her garden and thinks I’m very clever… I tell her AI is the clever one.
This is fun, could be addictive…. I have so many photos I could transform into art.
Or I could become an avatar.This really is addictive, I could turn all my family into Avatars, all my local scenes into an art gallery…
BUT of course this is dream land and it comes with guilt. We’re all using electricity and The Cloud is not really fluffy white and Artificial Intelligence uses a lot more power and water for cooling… Not to mention the ethics of presenting ChatGPT’s words as your own. Chatting to real people, it seems people are using ChatGPT for all sorts of useful things; asking it questions instead of Googling information, writing reports…
The above is all I have done on ChatGPT, using my own photos, except the one of me…
A real drawing by a human boy, Alex.
Have you used ChatGPT, if so how? Is it any different from all the other tools we use on line to create our blogs etc?
Staying in someone else’s home is the topic I chose for our writers’ group when it was my turn this week. It covers a wide range of experiences from world leaders being the guests of royal families, to school children going on sleepovers, so I am expecting them all to have come up with a piece.
I have stayed in many homes, sometimes those of strangers. As the eldest in the family I was often farmed out to make way for visiting friends and relatives. Looking back now, senior me would be appalled at the thought of sleeping on a stranger’s living room floor with several friends. Last week I did sleep in an office; modern working from home means spare bedrooms have become offices. However, the sofa bed was very comfortable and I did have exclusive use of the shower room next door, except when boys were having showers or going for a …
How kind were the many people who put me and friends up on various travels. Nowadays I prefer to be the hostess not the guest and we have had many people to stay over the years.
Whether you are staying or having visitors, the bad experiences are more fun to write about.
Worst Sleepover
My younger son and his best friend, plus a boy we had never met, were taken to the speedway by BF’s Dad. They enjoyed the evening and the sort of takeaway food you can get away with when there are no mothers around – this fact is relevant to the story. They then came back to our house to get settled into sleeping bags in our son’s room.
At 3am our bedroom door was flung open and son announced that the ‘other boy’ had been sick in his sleeping bag.
Worst Christmas – also involving vomiting.
My friend and I left Perth, Western Australia, having cadged a lift across the Nullabor Plain with a family friend. Our final destination was Tasmania. My friend being a laid back Aussie country girl assured me her various relatives would be happy to put us up. Our first stop was her aunt in South Australia for Christmas. They had an apricot farm near the Murray River and another aunt lived across the road. They also owned a shop down in the town – relevant fact.
They welcomed us in the lead up to Christmas and we planned to leave on Boxing Day. Christmas Eve proved eventful as the aunt across the road was having a miscarriage and my friend commandeered our driver to take Aunty to hospital. I was left alone to look after her other children, who I had never met before, in a house I had never been in and feed them.
Christmas Day was very pleasant, but that night my friend and I were awoken by the most horrendous noise. Our driver had food poisoning… what we subsequently discovered was that other visiting relatives had noticed one of the freezers in the family shop was dodgy and had warned each other not to touch the chicken.
We set off for Melbourne the next morning with my friend assuring our poor driver he would be fine. We made it, but I succumbed to the food poisoning the following day.
At some stage we bade farewell to our driver and went to stay with another aunt and uncle in a posh house. After a couple of nights we took a coach to Sydney where we stayed in a Girls’ Friendly Society hostel. We had to sign back in before midnight, even on New Year’s Eve. We then returned to Melbourne for a planned second short stay with the aunt and uncle before our flight to Tasmania, but they had mysteriously disappeared on holiday!
With no money set aside for accommodation we wandered into a respectable Christian bookshop in the city and asked a young shop assistant if she knew any cheap accommodation. She replied that her father had just gone away for a few days and she would be delighted to have some company to stay as she did not like to be alone.
What are your best or worst experiences of staying in someone else’s home? Take this quiz to find out if you are a good guest.
Your host is lactose intolerant, vegetarian and teetotal. Do you arrive with
A a homemade vegan cake you have made especially
B a lovely bouquet of flowers
C a bottle of wine, box of chocolates and pork pies from ‘our lovely farm shop’.
One person in the family has to get up very early and catch a train to work. You always wake up early so do you
A Check the night before what time they go out the door, so you do not get in their way. Hide under the covers not making a sound in case they worry they have woken you up.
B Dash in the shower and hope you are out before they want to come in the bathroom.
C Get up to make a cup of tea for both of you and take the chance to have a nice catch up chat.
Your host is cooking the evening meal, do you
A Peep round the kitchen door say ‘You don’t want any help do you’ and retreat quickly.
B Ask if there is anything you can do and keep out of the way of the cooker and the cook while you peel the potatoes as requested.
C When the cook says ‘No you go and watch television, I don’t need any help’ insist on helping and showing how you usually do the potatoes and catching them up with all the latest events in your life.
All Cs, I am away that week, sorry, though I do like chocs and wine…
I have been away from the Blogosphere and dipping into real life. Here are some surreal pictures which should hopefully give you no idea where I have been and what new things I may have discovered.Let us know if you can guess any clues.
I was idly scrolling through Facebook on my phone when I was surprised to see a picture of myself. I never post pictures of myself on holiday, well I never go on holiday, nor do I socialise enough to appear in other people’s photos. I peered closer. It was definitely me, in that fleece I got from Mountain Warehouse, but I had never been to the Royal Albert Hall. There I was standing outside the famous round building in summer sunshine. Had I been photoshopped in?
I dashed upstairs and put my desk top computer on, I needed to look at this properly, but knowing Facebook that post could disappear any second. Even as I climbed the stairs my phone pinged with a WhatsAp message.
Hi Claire, have a good time, which Prom are you going to?
I wasn’t the only person to have seen my picture, the picture that could not be me. I would love to have got down to London and gone to The Proms, but my budget did not stretch to a city break.
I don’t take much interest in Facebook, occasionally I put a link to my blog or my website when I have a new book published. My followers are a select bunch, but it’s surprising how many readers love my series about Bunny Bunting, a private detective who solves crimes in the cut throat world of pedigree rabbit shows.
There I was again looking up at the Prince Albert Memorial, carrying my jade fleece. I had on my blue polo shirt from Edinburgh Woollen Mill. Did I have a long lost twin? Now I was sitting and looking properly I read what the post said.
Have you seen Claire? Her family are desperately worried. She went on a day trip to London with work friends, but became separated. Claire is believed to be vulnerable and does not know her way around London.
Thanks a lot, not only has someone stolen my identity, now they are calling me vulnerable?
Claire Smith is forty three years old, five foot four inches and well built.
That is me exactly, though what is well built supposed to mean? At least she has not got the same surname.
We know it’s a long shot, but if you are a Londoner, especially a music lover, perhaps you may have seen Claire at Thursday evening’s prom. She is believed to have struggled with depression lately after the end of a relationship.
That is certainly not me, unless Claire Smith has just lost her pet rabbit. Give me a Flemish Giant any day over a man… there were comments already…
Is this Claire from Carlisle, I follow her on Facebook.
Oh no, that is me, I live in Carlisle, so wonder where this other Claire comes from? Please answer and tell us Claire Smith comes from Saint Ives…shall I add a comment…
No, I am Claire Lapin from Carlisle.
Hang on, that post has disappeared.
A hospital room, now what has happened? That looks just like the picture my brother took of me after I had my tonsils out.
Claire Darling we all love you and beg you to get in touch, you are due for dialysis tomorrow at Glasgow Royal Infirmary, but if you cannot get back here in time, please call at any hospital Casualty Department.
Oh dear it gets worse and worse…
My phone rang, my brother.
‘Sis, turn on the evening news, it’s you, are you in London, lost?
‘No Sam, of course I am not, nor am I on Facebook, someone has stolen my identity.’
He laughed ‘You have got a Doppleganger!’
‘A what?’
‘Your exact double, doesn’t even have to be a relative, just someone who looks exactly like you, everyone is supposed to have a Doppleganger somewhere in the world. But I know how you can find out if she is a relative, they are calling for kidney donors, searching for a good match before its’s too late, someone to give her hope…’
‘How can you call for dead people?’
‘No, live donors, you have two kidneys. I’ve taken the number, I’ll text it over to you.’
‘But Sam, I don’t like hospitals…’
I called the number, it was one way to find out who this Claire was. The kidney business caught people’s interest and a chap spotted her at sunset on Waterloo Bridge, staring into the Thames. He called out to her, rather prematurely ‘Hey, they found you a kidney.’
Claire Smith had a kidney transplant thanks to me. No it wasn’t my kidney. We are not related at all, but I somehow found myself in the swapping chain. My kidney went to an anonymous patient whose relative was a good match for Claire. I wasn’t in the news as I had not actually given her my kidney and I certainly did not post pictures of myself in hospital on Facebook.
This weekend Sally Cronin featured my novel Quarter Acre Block at her Summer Book Fair. Visit her great blog to read about my book and two other very different authors who have written amazing stories.
Lottie had not intended to search the beach for a silver spoon and told herself she was merely there for her usual early morning walk, but keeping her eyes peeled just in case. The beach was busy already. The metal detectorists would not have an advantage unless the mystery spoon was only silver plated.
A local author had planned the treasure hunt to publicise the latest novel in his Kitchen Sink Drama series. The Curse of the Cutlery Drawer was the fifth book, so presumably he was quite popular, though Lottie had never heard of him. Perhaps his fame had not reached London and the literary elite.
The author, Guy Forks, had been featured on the local news last night, though he was not seen, an actor read his words while a camera panned round his kitchen. Lottie could only wonder what the outside of his home looked like as he wished to keep his home location secret. The kitchen was unusual in the extreme. Bundles of herbs and strings of onions dangled over a huge slice of tree trunk that served as a kitchen bench. On the bench was road kill being prepared for dinner as far as she could tell. A collie appeared to have just given birth to puppies in a basket in the corner, next to a wood stove on which bubbled a huge pan with a couple of paws sticking out.
Before Lottie had a chance to peer closer and work out if the scene was actually for real, the view changed to the beach at Puddleminster-on-Sea. The actor’s voice declared that this was where the treasure was to be found and the clues were in the book. Whoever found the silver spoon would be united with the rest of the canteen of silver cutlery.
Against her better judgement Lottie had downloaded the Kindle version of the book and found herself googling the author. There was little to be found out about him.
It was an entertaining morning at least and the strange atmosphere and antics of all the beachcombers emboldened her to walk on further to the restricted areawhere she had nearly been arrested. There had been no more protests, as locals were now convinced they would become radioactive if they went too near. Lottie wondered if Guy Forks would purposely hide the spoon in this area. As she pondered, she found herself stepping through a gate that had been wrenched open. Locals had protested they did not have access to this part of the beach. Now they did, though it was a narrow strip. Behind a huge fence were forbidding looking buildings. Lottie thought she had better not linger, but as she turned to look out to sea she caught something glinting in the low morning sunlight. A thought popped into her head. She and her late husband had enjoyed visiting Liverpool and seeing Anthony Gormley’s statues standing on the sand and in the sea, disappearing and reappearing as the tides went in and out. The tide was going out so perhaps there was a statue under the water holding a spoon. That would be a challenge to retrieve.
Lottie wondered how long she had been staring out to sea before she was sure there was something emerging. It wasn’t a head… could it be a giant spoon? Guy Forks was obviously a big joker, was he also an artist trying his hand at installation art?
Lottie looked around nervously, expecting some official to say she was trespassing. How long before the tide went out far enough to reveal the strange object? She was only certain of one thing, she could not retrieve it and she had no desire to own a giant silver spoon, let alone a canteen of giant cutlery. She walked briskly, heading back to the main part of the beach, planning to tell the first familiar local she met.
Coming towards her was Geoffrey Good, the pathologist she had met at the police station, that bizarre time when a body was stolen from the mortuary. He had his friend’s dog with him, no doubt to look like he was walking the dog and not interested in treasure hunts.
‘What were you doing in the restricted area?’
‘Just having a walk, the gate was open, but I must tell you what I saw, you must come and look.’
They both looked and agreed the bowl of a huge spoon was emerging from the sea.
‘Do you know this local chap, Guy Forks?’ said Lottie.
‘Not till I heard about him on the news last night, even my wife wouldn’t read his rubbish.’
‘Oh it’s quite good actually, I mean I downloaded his book on Kindle last night, purely out of professional interest. I did fall asleep reading it before I found any clues… but whether he’s a good author or not, he has certainly created interest. He could be lurking behind a beach hut watching them all digging in the sand with no idea it will be easy to find. I know what we should do, lets tell everyone, play him at his own game.’
Geoffrey was better at commanding attention than Lottie as they started approaching people, but soon everyone was drifting to the area where the handle of the spoon was now beginning to emerge. Some people were angry at being conned, while others pointed out that Forks never said what size the spoon was. Geoffrey insisted there was no point in arguing about who could claim it until low tide was reached and they could see how the spoon was fixed to the sea bed.
People started paddling, then wading, few knew how deep the sea was or how tall the spoon handle might be. No one had thought to bring their swimming gear, but a couple of young men stripped down to their boxer shorts and discovered it was further out than they expected and out of their depth. When the police arrived to clear everyone from the restricted area, they had not heard about the treasure hunt, but decided boat reinforcements were needed to check the spoon. As everyone was now paddling in the shallows and they did not want to get their boots wet, the officers did not try to arrest anyone.
Lottie was excited to watch the early evening local news with Puddleminster being the first item. Guy Forks was unavailable for comment and nobody could retrieve the spoon as it was embedded in concrete. There was much speculation as to how it had been secretly erected overnight and other beach visitors interviewed thought it should remain as a local tourist attraction. Lottie had been interviewed briefly when Geoffrey pointed her out as the finder, but they had cut out her mention of the fact she was also a local author.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 