To Runcorn

Kissed Lorraine, and made off for Runcorn. Felt unusually stressed this morning, not helped by clowns on the line between Clapham Junction and East Croydon causing delays. I relaxed once I was aboard the Runcorn train, which is only couple of hours from St Pancras.

Tried to find the Campanile Hotel just by Runcorn Station but couldn't. Google maps had a breakdown saying, barking out, turn left, turn right, turn left, while I stood on the pavement. Turns out the hotel has new owners.  The reception area staffed by one person, the duty manager. She told me to expect a 'motel' feel. The room, when I got there, very basic but the sheets were clean. Outside was a bit of lawn, and a few trees and the roundabout. It looked like where a body is found in mysterious circumstance in an ITV crime drama.

I went back to reception after a short cat nap and awaited Carl. The duty manger, a pleasant woman called Kit told me she had degree in law, and was very chatty. I said about the murdery feel, and she said she had a stout walking stick and not to worry. I liked her.

Sat in the window, waiting for car, with Kit behind the bar. I felt as if I were in an Edward Hopper painting. Then Carl arrived and we surged into the old town area of Runcorn and had a few slow beers. In the first one, The Clarendon, we sat next to a table with a man who spoke in a very friendly way.  I am usually good with accents but I understood not a single word of what he had said. We were sat under a big screen playing hits of the 80s, which was a bit distracting. Then to another pub, The Wellington, with young lads playing pool. A bit of a sticky carpet feel to it, but friendly enough. Then, finally, to Wetherspoons. I hate to say it, but this was warm, welcoming, and the beer about £2 a pint. Even in the Clarendon, we had two pints of bitter and it came in at about £6, i.e. about half what it costs down south. 

Seeing Carl is like climbing aboard a time machine because our memories of one another reach back over 50 years. Many things were discussed, and he treated me to a really good feed in Tandoori Nights. With some bravado I ordered a jalfrezi, with several hot fresh chilies in it, which I would later regret.

Carl walked me back to the hotel, and then caught a cab outside the station. Apparently the driver asked him if he was just up from London. He likes to maintain his London identity, even after being in Runcorn for 30 years. 

I slipped back into my room, and spoke to Lorraine, before bed. 

No Live Canon poetry competition results, despite the website saying they would be announced today. 

Below Carl in the Wellington, and my temporary home.