Amsterdam to London with Bart
Bart is 98. His cells are leaving "in droves,"
but he's still signing card numbers to a man across the aisle,
helping him cheat.
I'm typing when he leans over:
"I have a request. Can you type more slowly?
The speed of your fingers is making me jealous."
His phone pings: Welcome to France.
"We're in France now," he announces.
"That's not where I know you from," I say.
"Quite right. We first met in the Netherlands."
"We've travelled so many countries together,
we're such good friends."
Later, he asks: "What naughty things will you get up to in London?"
Just changing trains. Fifteen minutes in London, then Sheffield.
"Ah yes. Well, I wouldn't have thought
that should be a problem for someone of your calibre."
He gestures to his jumper.
"Would you mind?"
I help him pull it back on.
At St Pancras:
"Life is so worth living.
All the best for the many years you have ahead of you.
See I don't go getting emotional now."
thejoyofrachel 