The Swedish Adventure ~ Every journey of a thousand miles...

15/02/2008 16:13
The conductor advised me that there was no point buying a return ticket to Wakefield as I could easily lose the return ticket and it wasn’t any cheaper. Somehow it didn’t seem right not to have a return ticket.
I didn’t realise how difficult it was going to be to leave Mytholmroyd. Before anyone panics this is just for the week’s trip to Sweden. It’s a bit like that old song from My Fair Lady “I’ve grown accustomed to her face.” The grey skies, the clock face which is usually right all speak of home. I was desperate for there to be someone on the train who I knew so that I could maintain that umbilical link until the last moment. Of course it’s not the place, but the people left behind and especially those closest to you. My wife and I have probably not been apart this long since we got married over twenty five years ago
There is the adventure of what is ahead as compensation: a night with two vicars in a hotel, (please don’t ring the News of the World) and of course my first time on a plane since I was 17! I ought to be flying Virgin. The unknown excitement of travelling to a different country and culture: Sweden, and the possibility of learning and sharing and being inspired.
For now I would settle for a friendly face and a hug!

16/02/2008 17:11
A quick journey where the conversation about flow, (a concept about how time tends to disappear when we get engrossed in something) flowed, and three hours felt like minutes as we rambled and ranted about many issues. Following a SATNAV means that I have no idea where we arrived. We were greeted by an Elvis impersonator who was on his way out for a quick fag. “Where’s Elvis?” somebody asked to which I was able to answer honestly: “Elvis has left the building.”
My two companions, an ex physicist and an ex building materials salesman were good company as we enjoyed Indian Korma, Italian Meatballs, washed down with Valpocella, an Italian Red. So the food was no give away to where we were. More clues were the floodlit church at the centre of the village which only could be in England. It had both a tower and a spire: obviously a result of some ancient planning dispute.
Still unable to get through to Catherine so feeling a bit cut off. God feels a bit cut off too, though the church across the road is a bit of an encouragement that although Elvis has left the building, God hasn’t.