Categories: postcards
Date: 18 February 2008 14:18:59
On the day of my return to the Ancient Roman City, I rose early (which wasn't difficult as I hadn't slept for longer than an hour) and was taken by my aunt's kind neighbour to the port of Rosslare. After days of shouting at my hard-of-hearing aunt with my scratchy throat, I discovered that I had no voice at all and had to whisper all my requests - people seem to find this highly amusing.
I had not really been looking forward to the crossing to Fishguard as the Irish Sea is noted for its tempestuousness. The only other time I have crossed this particular stretch of water was when I was 10 years old on a school trip from Liverpool to the Isle of Man. Ninety-nine percent of the passengers and crew were ill on that 3-hour journey and as I was already feeling a bit under the weather and sleep deprived, I didn't want to feel yet more miserable.
I need not have worried. The sea was like a mill pond. I took a quick turn on deck where I was nearly blown away by the icy wind and beat a hasty retreat back inside. There was an easy connection with the train (just one a day - so don't dilly-dally!!) which took me through south Wales to Cardiff where I spent an icy half hour waiting for a connection to Ing-er-land.
Maggie met me at the station and I whispered my news to her over a cup of tea. The (ex-) Lödgerin had been due to come and stay for the weekend but had had to cancel as her father had been taken rather seriously ill. (I haven't heard any more.) I drained the dregs of the blackberry syrup and decided to take to my bed for the weekend. The end.