Row, row, row yer boat

2. Betwixt Goes Downstream, and Upmarket


Dear Reader, having indulged you all in a fair bit of my global glory, please allow your indulgence in some continued ramblings of quasi-humorous manner, if you would. Take The Thames, for instance. It’s yours.

One has recently headed Henley way (location of my dear friends’ Harrowing Hostelry and Eton Eaterie) which is clearly beautiful in a kind of “oh yaaah, we’re massively rich, hug my Cox (aquatic person, that is)” kind of way, where everyone awaits the Big Oars arrival: Rowland, Rowena and Rowlex, all ideal if you desire a little wealthy canoedle (see what I did there? No?).

Regatta time, the lads here all OD on Prosecco, later decorating the Locale with Pavement Pizzas, particularly in The Square in fact, where the local Cathedral dates back to 1204, though the local Starbucks is even older, stately styled in Mocha Tudor. Banks disguised as Chester lurk in the shadows, and the evenings’ entertainment is more Halloumi than Hello Dolly. Salty, AND cheesy.

Oh how I miss those non-political on board Happy Hours, today twice refusing to discuss Theresa Might, and briefly recalling an encounter with a lady from Stoke on the Emerald Princess, off the coast of Bora Bora: "I’m sorry Jean, I have no opinion on Brexit whatsoever,” was one of my most rapid diplomatic retorts. I think it was enjoyable consumption of a Double Tanqueray 10 Britvic tonic and lime at stake here.


Domestic travels are occasionally as encounterable as International ones. My first overseas adventure post Global Navigation was thence, though only for 11 days, to the Land of Tapa, beside the shorelines of sand and shingle, and the Coasts of Costa Cava and Rosado. Sitting in, what used to be termed “A carriage”, I’m heartened that the European Team Of Railfolk or “Railteam” as they’re now called, have rewritten all of their facility descriptions in a simple plain form of English that even Wayne Rooney could glean. My favourite so far is, when you miss your train, you can hop on the next one. The service, mon Cher, is called “Our ‘Miss your train, hop on the next one’ Service”. Really.

Good to be back on the EuroCheval, these Brand Spanking EUROSTAR trains are the Beez Knees, even travelling in Scum Class. Simple, clean, well designed, and with coffee that doesn’t smell of insect repellent (take note Amtrak Chicago), plus travelling at exactly 300km/hr (that’s for my Henley Pals 6 gigafurlongs a day), it’s as comfy as a recently consumed croissant in my digestive system.

Yup, and I’m sure, Querido Lector, you’re all Gagging at the Bit to hear further tales from yet Another Journey To Spain. Here’s hoping Catalunya hasn’t declared Independence before I get there…..



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“Betwixt The Interim” WELCOME DEAR READER!

This is the location for the mutterings, murmuring, musings and manicurings of the English Language, dependent on the state of the mind of yours truthfully, Chris Marshall, U.K. resident, increasingly deaf musician, almost geriatric but... Continue →