The One After 9:09

Which train will we be on? The title above attempts to convey our confused answer to that question.

Our trip from Llanfair Caereinion, Welshpool, Powys, Wales, to Bradford, Yorkshire, England, took us four hours and four train changes. Just keeping track of the various tickets and seat reservation coupons was a challenge.

We did a little shopping in the stores at the train station in Welshpool. I scored two packages of hosiery ("tights" in the UK), three pairs of tights in each package for 3 pounds. 1 pound per pair of tights was a price that one would never see in London. Just doing our bit to keep the local economy going...

We waited on a chilly platform in Welshpool for about twenty minutes, after having hauled our heavy rolling bags up a looooong ramp and over a foot bridge across to the correct side of the train tracks. Our train ride was only a minute or two longer than our wait on the platform. Barbara thought perhaps since we were crossing a border, she might need her passport, but Mary Ann and I knew otherwise.

Once back in Shrewsbury, back over the border with England, we had about twenty minutes before our next train arrived. This took us to Manchester, England, where we had another twenty minute layover. This amount of time allowed us to use the public toilets (30p to pee), buy some pastries, and watch the local police force being photographed for their outstanding something or other. As the government just passed a law that makes it illegal to photograph the police or army when they are doing their duty, I thought that Mary Ann might be arrested by her very subjects, but they left us alone. Of course, we're on every CCTV security camera in the station, so if they really want to find us, they can.

The third leg of the trip took us from Manchester to Leeds. Once again we enjoyed reserved seating at a table, so that we could face each other and put our knitting supplies out on the table. Mary Ann finished her Glitter Wristlets, Barbara worked on her Wormy Apple scarf, and I made some good progress on Nana's Sweater.

Once in Leeds we were supposed to have fifteen minutes until the next train to Bradford, but they leave every twenty minutes so there was one waiting right on the other side of the platform, so we hopped on board. No reserved seats were available as it it is a "commuter" type train, so Barbara and I stood with the luggage while Mary Ann scored the last seat. Once in Bradford, we quickly found the taxi "rank". The first turbaned taxi driver said he couldn't take us as his "boot" was not big enough and our luggage was too large. The next driver in the queue was happy to help us. His headgear consisted of a crocheted cap. He was very concerned about us when he heard that our destination was The New Beehive Inn. Why weren't we staying in a "real" hotel, he wanted to know?

The New Beehive Inn was a Victorian-era pub with working gas-lights in the ground floor rooms, which consisted of a breakfast room, a billiards room, a pub, and a "music room". There was a cozy fire in the fireplace in the pub, so we had a half-pint before retiring upstairs to our "family" style room, which consisted of a double bed and two single beds, and an en-suite bathroom with shower. Each room had a placque on the door labelling it with a yarn or spinning term. Our room was "Weaving". There were also "Carding", "Dyeing", "Slubbing", "Warping" and "Wefting". Our room was clean and lovely. Our room was comfortably warm, and enjoyed a fine view of the mosque.

The astute reader will realize that we were in the location that spawned the home-grown terrorists who were behind the London bus bombings of July 2007. Why on earth were we there, another set of guests wanted to know? They only came because they had been invited to a wedding. We were there to visit the Texere yarn Warehouse, home of Freedom Spirit yarn, and two floors of yarn of every description. See their website at www.texere.com for the complete listing.

In this hotel, the plumbing only dated back about a hundred years. We were challenged by the workings of our toilet, which took so long for the tank to refill that one could only flush it once an hour. Flushings had to be pre-discussed and pre-planned, as in "I'm going to use the toilet but I'm not going to flush, so beware". We would flush it before leaving the room, whether it needed it or not.

We enjoyed a "supper" of wine, cheese, crackers and fruit in our room, before knitting, watching telly, and retiring for the night.