rainy days and mondays always get me down

Dear Marianne,

We went to Margate on Saturday. Why? I hear you cry. To see family. I hear me answer. It was the same when I travelled to North Dakota. Why? Asked the air stewardess. To see family, answered the air steward. And then they both laughed - at me.

Margate is 60 miles from my home as the crow flies, but 180 as Network Southeast trundles, both my town and Margate are in Kent, but I can get to Leicester in the time it takes for me to reach my sister on the east coast. So taking this into account, and coupled with a severe headache, five scratchy children, three changes of train, engineering works (bus from ramsgate to margate - uhm tempting)and a twenty minute walk in torrential rain this end, it is a wonder we set off at all. The only thing missing was a thunderbolt and a booming voice saying "DONT GO, STAY HOME!"

But we went, we braved the rain, the three trains,the grim wasteland of East Kent, the rain, scratchy children and the rain. Did I mention the rain?
At the first change at Tonbridge we performed a small comedy sketch for those who were watching, and when you have five children with you, people are watching. Craig stupidly listened to announcements and read departure boards for information, so that he knew which part of the train to go in. I always ignore such detail until I find myself sitting on the arse end carriage of a stationary train, whose front end is on its way to my destination. But this time, what with "engineering works and everything love, all the boards are wrong" as was the computerised voice on the train. So, with every new piece of misinformation, we first charged up and then down the platform. Then, when we got on the train we discovered we were on the bit that gets left behind at Ashford so we had to relocate to the front four coaches, at which point we discovered that it was all pointless because nothing was going past Ramsgate except some buses, which looked like they were last driven by Reg Varney with a big titted bird on his lap. We rang uncle Iain and booked his skoda and a taxi to ferry us to sunless Margate.
On the way back everyone, including the grown ups were tired , wet and cold. The rain streaming down the windows was entertainment for a while, but as we slothed past and then frustratingly back to the huge power station chimneys and the modern windmill that never turns, which decorate the desolate landscape of the post- Ramsgate and pre-Sandwich stage of the journey, end of tethers were everywhere. Our "parenting skills" were tested to the limit for the three hour trip, only aided by some coke and a kilo of sweety bribes; but anyway I think we did well.
We dragged our exhausted bodies up the hill from the station in the dark and, yes honestly, in the rain. We got everyone dressed and into bed and fell asleep to the sound of rain drumming on the wheelie bin in the front garden.

By the way, my sister was funny and cutting in equal measure, and made a heart stopping guacamole with 9 avocados, my brother in law was sweet and calm and too kind - why wait for ice-cream to become defrosted when Uncle Iain will make it happen,now. The cousins chatted, giggled, sat with and on one another, ran around madly, and eventually stopped long enough to pile under a duvet and watch spy kids in the front room.

Why else would I be in Margate in the rain?

Rx