I awoke fresh but I was not hungry and only had the bright fresh fruit for breakfast. I even declined anything from the appealing basket of warm pastries that was offered. It had been a pleasant flight and our passage through immigration went smoothly. We had something of a wait for our luggage but we were soon repacked down to single bags and on our way to the Underground.
The tube train was quiet when we boarded but it soon filled up and I was concerned that I might have to give up my priority seat beside my bag but nobody had any special needs and I could sit all the way to Barons Court. We crossed the platform and as I boarded the District Line train my bag got stuck on the lip of the carriage. I struggled as the doors closed upon it. When they reopened a kind passenger helped me to free the bag and hoist it aboard. I had no such problems joining the Circle Line at Sloane Square but I as I heaved my luggage up the stairs at Liverpool Street I felt grateful that this was the last of our burdened ascents.
After my light breakfast I was beginning to feel hungry when we reached the station concourse and I thought that I would have to forego refreshments because a train was departing in less than ten minutes. W encouraged me to buy a swift pastie (an English empanada, as it were) before we walked the entire length of the busy train looking for available seats. Then, just when I was expecting to have to stand throughout the journey, we found a pair of seats together. The sun was shining on the English countryside as we sped out of London and through Essex fields. We were soon in Suffolk and through Stoke tunnel to Ipswich station where we revelled in the luxury of the lifts that were installed just four years ago.
Vera was waiting for us at the station entrance. We heaved our bags into a car for one final time and returned home after three amazing weeks.