Where's Our Train

E persuaded me to take a short trip to take up an invitation from her lovely friends N & D, to join them for a few days at Théoule-sur-Mer, near Cannes in the south of France.

I'm suffering increasing levels of anxiety around travelling these days. Marred by the traumatic experiences of the last two years, the process exposes my memory issues bare. Ironically, on this occasion, the biggest problem was one of acquisition rather than loss. I got hauled in by security at Manchester Airport over a large pair of scissors found in my hand luggage. I had no idea how it got there. I still have no idea. And then I twisted my dodgy knee looking for a dropped pencil on the plane and it seized up to the extent that I almost required assistance exiting the aircraft. And then our train from Marseilles was cancelled. We took a bus instead and after speed-walking (the knee having unseized itself) the mile from the drop-off to the station at Cannes (arriving just in time) found that our connecting train had been cancelled too. At least it felt like my anxiety had been justified. And we did succeed in finally arriving.