Planes, Trains, Boats, and Coaches....

I love travelling. I don't get to do much these days, but when I get the chance I take it, & try to make the most of it all.



Perhaps I love flying the most. I feel safer, in the air, than on the ground, in a car, or even in a coach or train. I like the thought that if disaster should strike, the chances of being left alive to be maimed or lamed are much less, than with other modes of transport.

I even enjoy the meals, mostly. Emirates Airlines -as in United Arab Emirates Airlines- do wonderful meals. Last time I flew, they did, & an 'insider' told me everyone was envious of Emirates food.

I have been on planes which have been struck by lightning. Had motors wrecked by birdstrike. Had 'near collisions misses' as they like to call them.
Yet, I still prefer flying to all other travelling options.




Ships boats? I have been taken to task for not getting them correct!tend to make me nervous, but I confess, I have never been on an Ocean Liner or a really huge ship, except to visit when an open day has been available.

Small boats make me extremely nervous. Stinking motors on small motor boats make me just plain sick!

On holiday, in Queensland. Friends having a motor boat of which they were very proud. Taking us for a trip about the canals. A sort of Pub crawl by boat.

Lucky me! I got the seat by the noisy exhaust from the motor. I could not think of a worse fate for an enemy. Was I ever glad when that day ended!!

I have blogged about my Train trips, a little. I rather enjoy the trains, & have been lucky enough not to have too many delays or upsets.

I have travelled on the Monorail around Sydney City. Worst thing about it was the crowded lifts or the interminable stairs to get up to the stations. Fine for viewing though.

It is relaxing to let go & enjoy the rural trains we travel on now. They are airconditioned, comfortable, & clean. Much less stressful than being a passenger in a car too, from my point of view.

So, I come to Buses. Or if you prefer, Coaches.

My Grandmother, & mother used to refer to them as "Service Cars".

I remember being told of a very embarrassing incident when I was small, but unfortunately, talking clearly.

My mother was taking me to visit her parents, & when we came to Rotorua, that city of Hot steaming waters, mud erupting from the earth, with strong sulphurous odours, I piped up very loudly, for the delight of all the fellow passengers & the undying shame of my mother....

"Mummy, the bus driver will go crooked if you make that awful smell!"

I bet she wished she could stuff me under the seat & sneak away.

Now that I am older, I would rather like to go on a few coach trips to various locations. Gom says he would not.

So we stay home.

My worst memory of a bus journey, was when I was about 11. That awkward age when there are things you know you are about to know, but don't know yet.

The stage when conversations are stopped abruptly as you enter the room.

The age you are told to "Go outside or go & read Don't hang about here, listening."

The age you are not really a 'child' but neither are you an adult.

I was so happy that my mother was taking me with her, for a holiday to the beach house of her Best Friend.

We waited at the Bus Depot, early for the departing bus. My mother had made me a new blue dress to wear. It was very pretty blues, with fresh white, a slub check fabric, & I loved it.

We saw some acquaintances, & they came over to talk with us.

The bus driver walked past us, looking at our cases as he passed. Smirking, slyly, I swear. In my memory he is smirking!

He got into the bus, & started up the motor.

I swear he did it on purpose, revving as hard as he could.

The filthy exhaust spewing out evil black exhaust containing globules of diesel all over the skirt of my new dress.

My mother was so furious. She declared it to be my fault- of course, I was an idiot for standing where I was!

It ruined the beginning of our trip, as she tried in vain to scrub the stains out in the washroom basin. Those stains never did come out, & the dress was ruined. I had nothing else to wear, so had to remain in the offending dress for entire trip.

It set the tone perhaps, for that holiday was not such a happy one for me.

The Best Friend had a daughter & a son. The daughter was very odd, already displaying alarmingly, the oddness of a terrible disease the family unkowingly carried, but at that stage, undiagnosed.

There was an odd, single, Uncle, who coached swimming to young girls. He came to stay too, to share in the seasonal holiday. He tried to get me swimming. He never actually did anything inappropriate, but he made me feel terribly uncomfortable, & I slid away from his offers of 'free coaching'. Another black mark.

The odd daughter behaved in her odd fashion. She was older than I, I was expected to follow in her wake, being her friend. She wore cotton crochet gloves on a visit to the Zoo! I just could not force myself to wear the pair I was given, so we could be the 'same'.

I was going to write further about the Odd Girl.

I will save it for another post, bubbling about in my head.

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Here, instead, some fun pics of SG being a boy!

Perhaps a modern Pirate?

"Give me your treasure or I will scare you to death with my face pulling!"

Here, making his "Fishy Face". His classes did a little production for our viewing pleasure, & they were taught this 'face'.

A nice cool day, so I should be sewing.

I am going to pat some fabrics, & do some tidying, hoping the Mojo will strike!!

Trains & Boats & Planes Dionne Warwick.