It was far too early to be up, but at least it was warm and dry when I crept quietly out of $Friend's house and set off up the hill, wheeling all the way and allowing time for rest-stops. I travel light when not going by car, but even the few clothes and laptop, and a few books, weighed enough to tip Chariot over backwards if I wasn't sitting in it. I had to be at the station early in case the train didn't come in on the nearest platform, as the lift to the new bridge over the lines still isn't open; wheelchairs have to be checked in 30 minutes before the train arrives, anyway.
I'd allowed too much time and could have caught the previous train, but it's not easy to change a wheelchair booking. Anyway, the hour passed happily in greeting old BT colleagues who were dashing to commute, chatting to station staff (in French!), and drinking coffee for breakfast.
At Liverpool Street the station-staffperson who got me off the train showed me where to catch the bus for St Pancras. However, the bus-stop wasn't there: roadworks had closed the street. Heading back towards the station and taxis, I saw the right number bus turning down a nearby street, and chased after it. Right number, wrong direction. The driver suggested I ask at the information place a few yards away; there, the information person came out to give me directions to the next bus-stop (the booth was, as usual, not accessible). I was bewildered and worried about getting around the roadworks, and his English wasn't perfectly understandable. He looked at me, locked the door, and said he would take me there. And he did!
The bus was quick and trouble-free, and I arrived at St Pancras in time for my ticket to be changed to an earlier train. Eurostar people are very good about changing tickets, even though it's a bit complicated with there being so few wheelchair spaces. The journey was comfortable, as it always is, though I wished the meal hadn't been breakfast. None of it was on the diet, it was all tasty and I was hungry.
In Paris it was very warm and sunny. The buses provide good views when they aren't too full, and this time they both had plenty of room. Having so much time to spare, I decided to wheel for a while, doing a bit of window-shopping and wandering through a park before picking up the 92. At Montparnasse there was still time for another drink in a café and a happy half-hour in a bookshop.
There were no problems at the Gare de Montparnasse, for which I was grateful because I was tired; I spent most of the three hours' journey half-asleep. From Angoulême to Jonzac there is a railbus, a beautifully plush coach (with motorised lifting-platform) which always has very few passengers. Leaving was slightly delayed by the intricacies of fastening-down the wheelchair, as this driver hadn't done it before. The straps for the wheelchair were fairly straightforward, but he confused the various parts of the seatbelt and had to unfasten it all and start again, apologising for having to put his arms round me to get it done. I offered to do it myself, but he wouldn't hear of it.
Finally, the taxi to home and the welcome sight of my house and garden. But what had happened to the garden? The grass was three feet high and all the summer flowers were out!
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