I certainly picked a good weekend to visit my daughter in London. Rail links between Hastings and London are fairly diabolical at the the best of times and trying to get home yesterday was definitely NOT the best of times. After spending a lovely few days in my daughter's cosy flat, I anticipated that the substantial snowfall on Saturday evening might present a few problems with my getting home, but we left for the station, we checked online to find that trains were indeed running and that only minor delays were anticipated.
I won't bore you with the gory details. I've calmed down significantly since I arrived back home early yesterday evening after a 6 hour ordeal which entailed spending almost 2 hours on a freezing cold station platform at London Bridge, followed by being turfed off the so-late-it-went-from-delayed-to-cancelled train at Tonbridge with no explanation or expectation of getting any further, getting even colder waiting for a replacement train, then having to complete the last leg of the journey from Robertsbridge by bus, which had no heating.
When I finally got to Warrior Square Station there was nary a taxi to be seen so I had to wait a further 20 minutes for one, which was then unable to to get up our road so I was deposited at the bottom and had to trudge slowly up, step by painful step, almost in tears with sheer exhaustion and excruciating pain.
PP spotted me coming and met me a little way down the road, relieving me of my luggage and offering me a steadying arm. I have never been so glad to get home.
In the sitting room there was a roaring fire, on the sofa a cosy duvet to help me thaw out, and on a little table, an empty glass beside a miniature of single malt, all of which helped to bring me out of my hypothermic trance.
Not to mention the ministrations of Small Dog, who methodically licked every inch of exposed, blue-frozen skin and then settled down with me under the duvet to add her body heat to mine.
It took the best part of 1 1/2 hours to get any feeling back in my hands and feet, by which time they felt as though they were on fire. I've no idea how long it takes to get frostbite but on my final frozen trek up the hill to get home I was beginning to hallucinate about removing my boots and leaving all my black, frostbitten toes inside. If that had been the case, I resolved to package up my gangrenous appendages and post them to the Chief Executive of Southeastern Trains as irrefutable proof of the suffering that a mere 6 inches of snow can wreak upon their long-suffering customers.
I have regained a modicum of equilibrium today, although I've been just too tired to even think about getting into the workroom to do some work. However, I really should go and try to do something useful while awaiting the thaw which will render our road passable again.