Street life.

Back to Blighty in a fraught day during which:
   I left my phone behind, which is my lifeline memorywise.
   The plane was changed to a different model so some seats no longer existed. I was allocated a different seat at check-in, but found it occupied when I boarded. On challenging the woman, she stated that she had booked that particular seat ages ago and had no intention of moving even though there was an empty one in her row. When I asked where I could sit then, she said it was none of her concern. I had to stand in the aisle like annie-no-mates while the stewardess found me a spare seat amidst dozens of people pushing past. The very smug usurper of my original seat happily spread out herself and accoutrements over the spare seat for the duration of the flight. I hope Karma bites her in the bum soon.
   The coach journey from Manchester to Liverpool was uneventful, but the trek from the terminal to the train station in arctic (to me) conditions with a heavy case was a trial, skirting a half-dozen rough sleepers on the pavements, all being stepped around by people loaded down with C shopping - it's too early to say the C word before December - as if to flaunt their wealth before such destitution.
   I was to meet my daughter in town for the final part of the journey, but not having a phone I couldn't contact her. All my contact numbers are on the phone I left, and none are in my flaky memory.
   Realising that I would be completely out of touch with family and friends I was to meet up with, I bought a cheap mobile from the Hell which is Tesco, and spent the rest of the day attempting to work out how to use it.
   My new pensioner's nationwide travel pass was waiting at the house, which drew attention to what I had been trying to forget: today I officially became an OAP. How did that happen? I'm still waiting to grow up.
   On the plus side I found a hot water bottle and was able to just about tolerate my first night back. For a previously hardened ex-Yorkshire lass I've grown soft.