Lost on the moors.......ooooooohhhhhh!!!!!!

"Let me out" didn't make any difference when I yelled it at the station master, he just frowned and shut the door!

My trip to Bath started well enough, despite having to drag my 50 tonnes of luggage all over Paddington Station before finding the right train. I hopped into the comfy seat in the carriage and settled down with my book ready to enjoy the scenery until I was due to change stations at Westbury. We travelled through some beautiful countryside and I was enjoying the quietness of the carriage (there was only two other people), when the voice over the PA said, "next stop Westbury". I knew I'd have to wait there for about an hour before the Bath train arrived, but that was OK because the lady at Paddington had told me there was a cafe at Westbury, so I was looking forward to a coffee and a sticky bun. I got out of my seat, collected my voluminous array of paraphernalia and stood at the door as the train pulled into the station, and there I stayed! I stood and waited, waited, waited for the door to open and nothing happened. I started to get a bit 'edgy', so said to a man sitting close by, "How do I get out?" He flew out of his seat and said, "you have to open the window, put your hand thru and open the door from the outside", all while he was doing just that. As he tried to push the door open the station master came running down the platform......."Shut the door, SHUT THE DOOR" he yelled. "This lady needs to get out" my rescuer yelled back........."NO" boomed the stationmaster and before I could say anything appropriate to the situation, the train had pulled out of the station and was heading into unknown territory!

My rescuer said, "don't worry, you can get a train back from the next station". That's alright I thought, thanked him and sat back down. I still couldn't understand why what had seemed like the Emergency Evacuation instructions printed on the door were actually not for emergencies at all, but were for normal departure from the train!

So when the train stopped at Castle Cary, my rescuer opened the door for me and I disembarked. By the time I had loaded my backpack onto my aching shoulders and looked around, the train was gone and I was on a totally empty station, with the wind blowing a gale and frost beginning to form on my nose and fingers! Without boring you all, the next hour and forty five minutes consisted of me sitting in a tiny shed, rubbing my hands together to try and keep warm and ducking the torrential rain that intermittently blew directly into my little shelter.

The sky was black, the wind was blowing, the rain was pouring, there was no one to be seen..........it was silent apart from an occasional bird who chirped and then flew away (because it had more sense than to stay with me). I started to feel a bit anxious, to be honest, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but kept telling myself, "this is an adventure, there's a reason for me being here". For some crazy reason I began to think about that movie, "An American Werewolf in London", when the young tourist guy is waiting for the train, in the wind and rain, all alone out the back of rural England, and gets attached by a werewolf! I shook my head to try and get rid of the thought. The wind blew in a huge gust, a metal sign banged against the side of the shed, I jumped three foot in the air, my eyes on stalks.............."AND IN THE DISTANCE A BULL ROARED"!

To cut a very long story short, eventually (1 3/4 hours later) a train did come. I quickly hopped on. By this stage a couple of wise local people who were catching this train en route to Bristol had just arrived at the station from their warm firesides and hopped on with me. In my carriage a group of young lads who had in their possession a Claxton Horn, took great joy in frightening each other by blowing it unexpectedly, all the way to Bath. Suffice to say, even though I knew this was going to happen every so often (and each time I SAW it about to happen), I jumped three foot in the air EVERY SINGLE TIME!

I won't bother telling you about my difficulty explaining to the cab driver where I wanted to go once I got out at Bath station, or the drudgery of carting my bags to the door of my new abode, I will end this long winded story on a jolly note. Arriving tired, wet cold and with my nerves shot at the door of Grosvenor Lodge, I was met by the warm and friendly Colin, who escorted me into his beautiful, warm and classic Georgian B & B and showed me to my room where he left me to settle in. The room is beautiful, the bed large and sumptuous with an arctic strength doona and embroidered linen. On the beautifully patina'd dresser there is a porcelain cup and saucer next to the jug and a view from the heavily draped window of the rolling hills..............and that was before I went down to the lounge where the antique dining table was set for breakfast with bone handled silverware, porcelain china (Carlyle pattern!) and crystal candelabra. AAAAAAHHHHHH heaven at last!

I know you're waiting for the moral of this long and sorry tale, but I'm afraid I'm yet to work that out myself. Maybe it's "Good things come to those who wait" or "You don't know what you've got till it's gone", but I'm more likely to think it was all a scheme of my dear old Dad's to give me an opportunity to tell a story that includes his classic storytelling line, "And in the distance......a bull roared"! If so Dad, it's done now, so my ongoing adventure needs no further intercession! Type remaining message over this text.