thing 50: ‘after today there will away this sense of sorrow’:* St Cuthbert’s Way, part (iv)
St Cuthbert rolled his eyes as we viewed yet another abbey from a distance, through railings; Jedburgh Abbey, this time. We managed to be both late and early for the bus, having sprinted through town to buy lunch (our bus sweeping past us as we sped) only to wait three quarters of an hour with Betty at the bus stop for the next service to “Gala”. Betty told us all about her dead collie, what it was like to have ten cats, and what Aunty Bunty had said about it all. I’ve always had the kind of face that people tell their life story to at bus stops; this time was no exception. Betty was warm, garrulous and very Scottish. I hadn’t heard the name Bunty since my Granny died. It was strangely nice.
thing 50: ‘My soul is sunk’:* St Cuthbert’s Way, part (iii)
Is a Kitkat a chocolate bar or a biscuit? This might not seem an important distinction but when you’re 7 miles in and the “chocolate bar” promised in the hotel packed lunch turns out to be a Kitkat, you can feel cruelly misled. These things matter, is all I’m saying.
Breakfast had been rather good, you see. I had Eggs Florentine and coffee, served in a grand salon with huge mirror panels with fancy glass lights on them and the kind of embossed, gold, fol-de-rol wallpaper which only makes sense in big public spaces like this. Jenny and I were tucked (more…)
thing 50: ‘daring to pray’:* St Cuthbert’s Way, part (ii)
Oh, I’d forgotten this—how a day, lived through this slowly, can have so much to give you; how hardly moving at all gives you the chance to register worlds, interior and exterior, so full of texture and difference and riches. Oh. Oh, how wonderful.
Mind you, I (more…)
Thing 50: ‘change, please’: St Cuthbert’s Way, part (i)
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