I am so lucky having Miranda. She does look after me, carry my bags and my mobile, hold my arm.
But I hate to think I will ever be a burden to her.
I want her to be with me forever… but sometimes I am quite pleased to be on my own.
Like recently, while coming back from the Isle of Wight to my London home. I got the hovercraft across the Solent OK, but when I arrived at Portsmouth & Southsea railway station at 9.30am, I discovered there was a national rail strike.
The station was empty, except for two bored staff members who had no idea what was going on. One advised getting a coach, the other suggested going to Southampton and catching a train to Cardiff.
You what? Cardiff?
Yes, get off at Reading.
What chaos, what a mess. I got a taxi to the bus station to find massive queues. All seats to London were taken until 5.30pm.
Oh God.
I got a train back to the first station, then caught a train to Southampton that went through loads of stations I had never heard of.
I waited for a replacement bus service at Southampton that never came, so gave up and got an Uber to Basingstoke – hang the expense. Where even is Basingstoke? No idea.
Someone told me I could catch a train from there to Waterloo – then a tube and a bus home.
So many decisions, such complications; so many different journeys, such stress – I could feel my little heart beating in my chest and my head aching, trying to work out where I was, what to do next, fearing I would get totally lost or fall and have to spend the night in some unknown railway station.
I wished Miranda was with me – if only to carry my stupid case. It’s one of those wheelie things, easy to push in practice, though mine has a mind of its own and refuses to go in certain directions and is hell to carry.
Then I had a strange thought: thank God Miranda is not with me. We would have fallen out; we would have argued over my impulsive, instant decisions, jumping on and off trains and buses.
She’d say, “You’re stupid. Get an Uber all the way home. You can afford it.”
“He travels the fastest who travels alone,” according to Rudyard Kipling.
That is certainly true of the solo adventurer who travels for the experience and who can change plans if he or she sees something interesting or gets an invitation. He can talk to everyone, go anywhere, as he has no one to worry about but himself.
I have written loads of travel books and by far the best things happened when I was on my own. You don’t have to worry about considering others, and can make instant, selfish decisions.
When you are a couple, you get cut off, stay in your own world. It took me seven hours to get home instead of the normal three. I was absolutely shattered, shaken, but at the same time strangely elated.
I had done it.
And, yes, it may have involved many different forms of transport, but all had worked, and I had made no real mistakes, nor did I fall or collapse.
I got home in one piece, all on my own. Well done me.
Hold on, pet. I’m not saying I would prefer not to be with you, just that there are circumstances in life when it is easier to be alone and responsible only for myself.
Oh God, come back, you’ve taken it the wrong way. Now what have I done?
