To Travel Over Land and Sea, First Up the Wooden Planks

An ice-laden wind buffets me as I crawl up the pier and, mindful of the restrictions, I slow my pace further and look disapprovingly at others in their haste. Remembering tales of those miscreants who heeded not the signs means that I eye the numbers constantly – as they edge upwards my foot responds with a slight pressure. The needle drops again. We near our destination and it’s noted with a curse that the speed counter is no longer there! The curse is echoed from elsewhere.
“The boat is in we’re going to miss it!” comes the admonition.

It’s snowing; she’s off to London on her own with barely enough clothes on – although she’s been nagged into taking the coat now slung over her arm; I’m worried that the train will get stuck in a snowdrift or her sister won’t be able to get to her at Waterloo… or…or…

I don’t want her to go.

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