Durham Days

I’m not a huge fan of winter in England. Like most people, I’m sure, it can be exceptionally depressing and dreary. The cold, the damp, the drizzle, the half-hearted attempt at snow…in comparison to a Canadian winter, it just doesn’t stack up. Yet, here we are again, for the third year in a row, experiencing an English winter. Something went wrong somewhere.

We landed on Sunday morning at Gatwick airport after a 12-hour flight that got in earlier than scheduled. Gatwick was a much better airport experience than Heathrow. It’s smaller so you don’t have to walk miles to get anywhere, and the immigration queue was deserted at 5:30am. I went through the UK passport holder side while Glen went through the horrible foreigner’s side, but both of us had no queues to wait in and we were out and waiting for our luggage in no time. Miraculously it made it all the way from Hong Kong despite the layover.

We then had two hours to kill before the first of our trains to Durham in the north of England. Considering the train journey would take about five hours, we went to M&S and stocked up on food and treats, suffering beneath the glare of a shop assistant who had to wait while we paid for our goods before she could finish the last of her mopping. Good old British customer service strikes again.

We sat and ate some food before having a mild argument about perhaps starting our journey early and thereby reducing the risk of us missing any of our trains. I’d booked specific trains that we had to be on or our tickets would be invalid but only two of the four trains were specified, which meant we could get from Gatwick to London whenever we wanted. So we started an hour early.

The train to London Bridge took 40 minutes and included one very chatty and disheveled young man who was either high from an exceptionally good Saturday night or schizophrenic or both. He came and talked to us for a bit before Glen successfully managed for him to leave us alone without it escalating into an incident.

We got into London Bridge and then took forever to find the Underground entrance, a delay which allowed us to stand underneath the Shard. First time achievement. We were so early when we got to the Underground that the Northern line wasn’t yet running. I’d not realised that it was Sunday morning and therefore it opens later. It made for an interesting ride later on as I tried to determine who was just starting their day and who was at the tail end of it.

We arrived at Kings Cross Station with plenty of time to kill. We took photos at the Platform 9 3/4 sign, which usually has a queue and a trolley of luggage at it but today was just a rather small sign on the wall. There’s nothing we like more than not having to queue for things. We had breakfast at Giraffe and killed some time in the warmth before going to board our 9am train to York.

Thank god I’d prebooked tickets because the train was full. We got on to find that our seats had been occupied by people with small children. If you’re going to take seats on a train, perhaps take the ones that don’t have reserved on them. I attempted to find some ‘available’ seats elsewhere in the carriage so they didn’t have to move but it was impossible. They moved. I hope they found seats. Plenty of other people didn’t and had to sit on the floor. It beggars belief that the company would sell tickets to a train when there aren’t enough seats for everyone.

The journey took three hours to York, the old woman behind me wheezing and panting all the way that it sounded as if she were having some sort of panic attack. The countryside out the window was pretty, especially where it was covered in mist and fog. I got some work done which made me feel noble.

At York we got on another train to Durham, which pulled in at the station 50 minutes later. Miranda, Henry and Robin were waiting for us, and it was such a nice surprise to get a big welcome from Henry who was much more shy the last time we’d seen him probably over a year ago. Andrew appeared and we did all the hellos and walked together out of the station and then parted ways: us to go to our hotel and them to go grocery shopping.

We lugged our suitcases up the hill to Farnley Tower, a converted Victorian house, and checked into our room in the top tower. We really are in the top of the hotel as the ceiling is slanted and I’ve bashed my head into it a number of times. The view out the window of the Cathedral is great though.

We showered and unpacked, and then the rellies came by for a visit. We Skyped Christine, and handed over boxes of pizza and barbecue Shapes that we’d brought from Australia, as well as other gifts. We then walked to the local Sainsbury’s, Henry and Andrew leaving us halfway to head home. It was about 3pm by that stage and already getting dark.

In the late afternoon, we hung out at their place for a while but Glen and I were flagging by 6pm so we headed back to the hotel and ate dinner in the Indian restaurant underneath. I started to get stomach cramps after we’d finished eating, exacerbated by the coughing that had only gotten worse since leaving Perth. We made it through dinner and then went upstairs. I left my scarf behind – the same one I’ve left in an airport lounge before – but luckily was able to retrieve it the next evening. Glen and I fell into bed. He passed out at 7:15 and I managed to stay awake until 8pm, holding on to find out whether a pair of hornbills bred at Chester Zoo and then I too slipped into unconsciousness.

I live in eternal hope of ever not being affected by jet lag. Surely going to sleep at 8pm would be a good indication that I’d be able to sleep through the night. Alas, no. I was awake sometime around 3am and stayed awake for another three hours at least before hovering on the edge of sleep at 6 until 7. At 7:15 we got up and went for breakfast.

We got to Miranda’s at 8:30, in time to walk Henry to school. Children emerged out of the surrounding streets and paths to converge on the school. One child walked beside me and struck up a conversation about Incredibles 2. It was only after a few minutes that I found out why: I was carrying Henry’s Incredibles 2 backpack. Mystery solved.

At the gate, Henry barely gave us a second look as he rushed into the classroom to find his best friend Daniel. (Not me obviously.) The weather was decent so the three of us (plus Robin) went for a walk through Durham, walking through incredibly picturesque forest with views of the cathedral, castle, river and bridges. It was very pretty and atmospheric.

We walked into the walled city and around the cathedral to part of the university where we hoped to get coffee and tea at one of the cafes. The first one we went into opened at 9; it was 9:15. We stood around waiting to be noticed but no one came so we left. Strike one for British customer service.

We then went across the way to the library/museum where we were told by the woman behind the counter that the cafe opened at 9:30. She wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of people either. Strike two. We bought some pins and left to go to the cathedral.

Durham Cathedral is impressive. The rose window is stunning, the soft hue of the stone gives it a warm vibe, matched by the sheer amount of central heating required to heat the space. No photos allowed unfortunately but it was a nice place to wander through. The organist was practising, people were scrubbing and vacuuming the floors: it was a bit like we’d wandered in before they were ready for guests. Their cafe didn’t open until 10 so we went back to the 9:30 place. It was 9:45 by then. Surely they’d be happy for some customers.

Wrong. The woman in the cafe was as surly as they come. It was like she didn’t want to be bothered with customers that day. We ordered teas and coffees and sat down. About five minutes later the order was ready and we were summoned to come and collect it. Later three older people came in and ordered and she brought theirs over for them. I was *this close* to saying something. Strike three for British customer service.

After our morning tea, we wandered through Durham, down the main street to market place, back out across the bridge, beside the river and home to Miranda’s. Glen had many cuddles with Robin. I was incredibly jealous but considering how much I’m coughing, I didn’t think it a good idea. I was feeling wary enough of being in the same room as them. Drugs had helped suppress most of it but still…

When it was time to collect Henry from school, Glen was stuck under a sleeping Robin so Miranda happily skipped out of the house with me to collect Henry and bring him home. Back at the house we watched Moana then had dinner before Glen and I made it back home, later than the night before but still many hours earlier than our normal bedtime. Glen passed out soon after 8 but I made it til 9. Well done, me!

Unfortunately I think I got even less sleep than the night before. Glen was snuffling and snorting and I was probably awake at 1am and doubt I got back to sleep through much of the night. We had breakfast again, went to take Henry to school and then home again, chilled out before I got antsy about not ‘doing anything’ so Glen and I went to the gym in town and then had lunch at Nando’s.

Back to the hotel for a rest and Glen went to pick up Henry with Miranda while I stayed at home trying to nap. It didn’t work. And I’m still coughing. But at least I’ve figured out how to turn the radiator up. In the evening we hung out at their place, I made dinner. It was all very homely and lovely. Glen and I managed to stay up later than the previous nights too.