Finding another Way

Sometimes on a journey you begin to suspect that you’re not meant to get there… better to turn round and go back to your duvet. I began to wonder today.
I had to visit London , long story for another time, but every step of the way there was trouble. It began weeks ago when I found it virtually impossible to virtually get my tickets on line.
I ended up booking tickets from Manchester: 11.15.
I duly turned up in Mytholmroyd for the 9.25 a.m. to Manchester.
It was delayed but not so bad, then at 9.45 it was cancelled not to worry the 9:56 would do.
Then I rang at 10: am to find that there were no trains to Manchester. So I set off to Leeds and caught at great expense the train to London.
Then there was a kafuffle in the coach and the train was brought to a halt in Doncaster. A man in my carriage had been apprehended for stealing some money.
In the end I got there but it was hardly letting the train take the strain. Finding another way to do things was the key to getting there.
Today Catherine had to go into hospital for a minor operation. She was taken into the local private hospital, a new scheme for cutting the queues. I wasn’t sure what to make of this “creeping privatisation,” but I suppose it’s finding another way to get there.