Well, Beth and I misread the train timetable and went and played on some strange England-style park equipment to pass the time. Before that, a dog tried to bite me. After sitting at the train station for 30 minutes waiting for the train that would never come, we panicked and tried the bus stop up the road. The bus driver laughed and dropped us off at a phone booth, in a dark, cold, middle-of-nowhere roundabout where Harry Potter would have found himself as he fled the Snatchers, Dementors, Death Eaters, or Voldemort, of course. We were terrified, and called 999. That’s the British 911. We would have just called a cab, but there was nowhere to put money in the phone, nor was there a place to slide your card. The 999 lady called a cab for us, and we spent the next hour or two huddled inside the phone booth, staying semi-warm, and watching a snail slurp it’s way across an advert (that means advertisement in England). Finally, a cab came to take us 60 miles back to Newcastle, who we tried to talk to, but couldn’t understand at all.
Despite our fear, it’s turned out to be something that we laugh about, and it’s so much better of a story than “we went to the castle and came home.” It’s so easy to get caught up with everything going as planned, when the best things often happen spontaneously. I’m trying to learn how to be more open-minded in regards to where my life is and stop planning everything to death. It just takes away the thrill. If adventure is what we’re signing up for, which I certainly am, I guess I’m learning to deal with the occasional cold night watching snails slurp by.
Now I have to move my car to avoid getting a ticket. Also, do you ever get tired of listening to hipster kids outside of coffee shops talk about songs they’re writing as they smoke pipes and look at their “new” thrift store finds that are undoubtedly 2 sizes to small? I do. :) Enjoy the pictures below!
