Bingo Story

Travelling Post-Pandemic While Elderly?

Caveat Temptor!

True story. Last week a friend and I took time out to paint London town red. We are both Londoners but thought it would be fun spending the day out and about, then to sleep in a hotel in our hometown. We have a combined age of one hundred and twenty-five years so think we are allowed to do whatever the hell we want to now.

We started with an exhibition at one of our favourite art galleries and ended with a concert of a famous but aging 70s R&B band.

Our problems began when we tried to make our way from the art gallery to the hotel where we were going to leave our overnight bags and have a rest before the concert.

There were several ways to get from the hotel and we decided to take the riverboat – how quaint!

There then ensued a discussion about where best to disembark. We had two options. 1. Taking the cable car across to the hotel. 2. A short walk of ten minutes, the fifteen-year-old riverboat conductor assured us.

Ten minutes for him, maybe. When we got off the boat – a great ride by the way – it occurred to us to check Google Maps. Twenty-four minutes for people of our age.

We grubered because a twenty-four-minute walk felt like a bridge too far.

Freakidentally, I managed to leave my phone in the cab and then had to spend about an hour getting it back. Bang went my rest time, as we then had to leave for the concert.

All challenges were forgotten as we had a fabulous time at the concert then took the train & DLR (Docklands Light Railway) back to our accommodation, singing long-forgotten hits from our girlhoods. We only got lost twice before finding the hotel.

After a swim and breakfast the next morning, we decided to go home via a well known shopping mall where I hoped to pick up a new pair of gloves, and a hard to find body lotion from one of the larger branches of a chain store.

I studied the transport for London map carefully as my friend had forgotten her glasses at home and could read hardly anything. “It’s platform one,” I declared confidently.

To get to platform one we had to take a lift up to the connecting bridge, cross over to the other lift and go down to the platform. Whereupon we discovered it wasn’t platform one we needed but platform two so had not needed to use the lift after all.

So we simply reversed the process and tried not to mind that we missed two trains in the meantime. We weren’t in a hurry!

We got onto a train and when my friend tried to get off at the next stop, I stopped her saying we needed to go to the end of the line as that’s where we were getting off. But I began to feel increasingly unsure as we passed stations that I had not expected to see. Finally, I had to admit defeat. We were on the wrong train.

We got off and found a connection that took us back on route, albeit adding a further half an hour to our journey time.

By this time we were overwhelmed by feelings of acchobumbum and oozing izitme at one another – desperate to arrive at our destination without getting lost again or making another wrong turn.

How could it be that we had made so many errors of judgment in the space of twenty hours?

I think I found the answer on that train back towards our correct destination in an advert designed for people who may have lost confidence in travelling during the pandemic. The tagline read: “You can’t go back and make a new beginning but you can start from today and create a new ending.”

Arriving at the mall, we decided to stop for some lunch before going shopping. We chose Thai food and it was delicious.

Finding our way to the store we wanted was less than delightful, however. The mall is set over several floors, involves a lot of walking and it’s pretty much like a maze. Twenty minutes later we were still looking for the elusive store.

By this time we were exasperated with ourselves as well as each other and both of us started lerping, each hoping to allow the other person to make the next mistake.

As we stepped into what would be our penultimate lift for the day I pressed the button for the ground floor and my friend objected, telling me we needed Floor 1.

“Goodbye,” I cried, exiting the lift on the ground floor and making my way towards the shop we wanted, forgetting I was wearing my mask chinbecile.

“That was a bit rude,” my friend grumbled as she caught up with me. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way but I’m the one wearing glasses so I can read better than you can,” I retorted.

Neither of us found the products we were looking for in the shop so we left feeling even more disgruntled.

In the end, I wasn’t sure who was the bigger errorist, me or my friend.

Two things are for sure. To comparallel is to despair, and it will be a hot winters day in London before I travel on a train again.

Not when I can choose riverboat, cable car, tram, DLR or gruber.

You will need to read this to make sense of my story; if you want to join us get a move on as you have mere hours left!

Marla Bishop lives in London with her family. She’s the only person she knows who thinks she’s funny. You can follow her on Medium or on social media here