‘Let’s do it,’ Jeanette said. ‘It’s ages since we met up. It must be getting on for six years or more. It was before Covid, I know that. We’ve been talking about it for so long. Let’s just go.’
‘Well, we do need to find somewhere to stay first,’ warned Marsha. ‘This is London we’re talking about. Last time I looked, the prices had shot up.’
‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way,’ said Jeanette. ‘I’ll have a look at the accommodation websites and see what I can come up with. Tell me your dates so we can coordinate.’
Before Covid, Marsha and Jeanette had often met up in London where they had once been work colleagues. On retirement they had moved out to different parts of the country. London was the best place for a rendezvous. It had art galleries, cinemas, theatres, the lot. When you lived in London, you took all that for granted, she reflected.
It was a bit of a scrabble finding anywhere to stay. Jeanette looked at the sites they’d previously used. Eventually she came across a hostel near Warren Street tube that still had four rooms available.
‘That’s perfect,’ said Marsha. ‘I used to get off the tube there when we worked together. It’ll be a trip down memory lane. We’ll be able to walk everywhere from there or get buses.’
It was exhilarating making a decision and acting on it. Jeanette was pleased they’d managed to coordinate their dates and booked their stay in such a short space of time. Going to a place you already knew took the stress out of travel. You didn’t have to worry about getting from A to B. You already knew all the places to go.
Marsha would spend some time visiting her relatives and Jeanette would be meeting up with friends. They would meet up in the evening to go out to eat.
‘We can go to one of those Bel Pourri places in Drummond Street,’ said Jeanette.
‘Or the Turkish restaurant near the British museum where we used to go after work.’
‘And there’s the Open-Air Theatre in Regent’s Park. I don’t think you have to book for that.’
Mostly though Jeanette loved just wandering around the streets, reminiscing about people she’d known and places she’d worked back in the day: the picnics on Hampstead Heath, the music festivals at the South Bank. Not to forget the marches and demos. That was all part and parcel of the place, part of her history.
Since she last went on a train, they’d closed the local ticket office. It had been so much simpler then. She used to pop in there on the day before travelling and book a Standard Saver Open Return. The man in the office would take it upon himself to write down all the times and changes and even platforms. It took all the stress out of travelling. Now she would have to organize all that herself. True there was a ticket machine at that station, but it was tiresome working out how to use it when there was a queue of people behind you.
‘I can’t be bothered with all the faff,’ said Marsha. ‘I think I will drive into town and get the people at the train station to do it for me. It’s only thirteen miles away.’
Jeanette wasn’t giving in to technology. She managed most things on her smart phone. She did online banking, booked concert tickets, and ordered goods. How hard could it be?
First, she would have to renew her Senior Rail card. That should be straightforward enough. But the Trainline App was still using her old email. After considerable time trying to update her personal information, she eventually sent them an email and received a reply saying they would deal with it within the next ten days. Frustrated, she rang Customer Support and got them to change it for her. When she finally got back into the app again, there was another stumbling block. This time they wanted her to upload a passport-sized photo of herself. It had to be in jpeg and in the correct, specified size.
Google was not in the least bit helpful in explaining how that should be done. Taking a selfie and finding it in Gallery was the easy bit. But did you then have to crop the photo, to get it to the right size or what? Another lengthy conversation ensued with yet another Customer Support woman, who condescendingly kept asking if she didn’t have somebody nearer who could help, making her feel like some sort of nitwit who couldn’t manage technology. After much trial and error, she eventually realized that the app uploaded the photo automatically, without you having to do anything.
All she needed to do now was book the ticket. Having filled in her personal information any number of times already, she specified the dates and times and paid up.
‘Success,’ the next email read. ‘You are on your way to London.’
But the tickets had disappeared somewhere into the Trainline App, along with the Rail Card. She only hoped she’d be able to locate them when asked to produce them on the train. She’d been caught out like that once before. To be on the safe side, she’d print out the tickets so that she could easily produce them when the guard came round. But then the ink ran out on her printer, and she had to order some new cartridges from Amazon. They wouldn’t be delivered until the next day.
‘It took me three hours to get it all sorted,’ she told Marsha next time they spoke. ‘I thought technology was supposed to make things easier. I’m afraid I may have over-identified with the Luddites back in the nineteenth century. The difference being that they were smashing up machines because their livelihoods were at stake. For me, it was a question of my sanity.’
About the author
Jenny Palmer writes short stories, poetry, memoir and family history. Her collections 'Keepsake and Other Stories.' 2018, and 'Butterflies and Other Stories,' 2024, were published by Bridge House, and are on Amazon. 'Witches, Quakers and Nonconformists,' 2022, is sold at the Pendle Heritage Centre, Barrowford.
Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)
No comments:
Post a Comment