The Outlaws #6 - Passport to Toronto?

Another day, another train journey to London. This holiday seems more like work every day.

In one respect, today's was a more relaxed start than yesterday. Since the only requirement was to get to Canada House before it closed, Nikki and her Mum could take the latest possible train: the 10.15am, arriving at Euston at 12.26.

That was pretty much the only respect in which this day was less stressful. When we set off from home we didn't know whether or not the passport was even available to collect, but Nikki reasoned we should get to the station and then make the call, rather than try and rush over there at the last minute. CH doesn't open until 9.30 anyway, so we would be cutting it fine whatever we did.

We arrived at Piccadilly Station around 9.30 and the girls bought reading material for the train before Nikki made the first call. There was no reply. Just to add to the stress, Nikki's phone which had started off with a full three pips of charge, plummeted to a single pip as soon as she made that first call. She called again and this time left a message. I reckoned no matter how unlikely, there was just a chance CH had some telephony integration that would flash up an alert on the woman's PC screen if a message was left. It might even be converted into an email for her.

There was still no reply, and Nikki tried again a couple of times with no luck. Around ten minutes to ten, we started to reevaluate what we meant by "latest possible" train. Would the 10.45 be an option? Arriving at 13.02 it would be cutting it very fine, but the tube might be fairly empty at that time. There was just a chance... Or should they just get on the train anyway and chance it? Chance that they'd end up making a 5-hour round trip and spending £238 on rail fares only to have to do it all again tomorrow or Monday?

10am struck, with still no word. It was decision time. Virgin close their doors two minutes before the trains leave for safety reasons and we still hadn't bought the tickets. Then, at 10.05 exactly, ten minutes before the train was due to leave, Nikki's phone burst into life. She answered. The woman wasted precious seconds explaining why she hadn't been able to take the call earlier, or return the call sooner, or something, but then Nikki's eyes popped out of her head as the woman told her Shirley's passport was ready for collection. She grinned and nodded madly and I took this as my cue to rush to the ticket machines while Nikki ushered her Mum towards platform 4. With literally two or three minutes to spare I thrust the tickets into Nikki's hand as she ran down the platform.

As I strolled slowly back to the car trying to collect my jangling nerves, I reflected on the impact of a lost passport. Shirley and Neil only came for 7 days and fully 4 of those days have been affected one way or another by that single, simple, unlucky happenstance. A day searching for it, trying to find out what to do about it, and reporting it lost (which meant we couldn't go to Bakewell); a day at the photo place (admittedly not entirely wasted since there was some additional shopping done) and two days spent travelling to and from London. What a palaver.

And here I was, looking after Neil again. When I returned home he was still sat quietly in the lounge. No-one had told him his papers were already on the dining table waiting for form to be studied and betting strategies calculated. Still, if that's all he had to worry about, he should consider himself lucky, eh? I dropped him off at the bookies around noon and returned home to spend the day chilling out.

Having started on a knife-edge, the day finished as a bit of an anti-climax. Nikki reported back at lunchtime to say they had spent all of 5 minutes in Canada House ("here it is," "thank you very much") and since they had standard single tickets, had caught the next available train back. The 14.05, arriving in Manchester at 16.30. That left me with just enough time to meet Neil for a pint before collecting the girls from the station and returning with them for another. I had to drive everyone home, of course, so neither of them were particularly relaxing pints. Indeed from the knots in my shoulders I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever relax again. I think I need a holiday!