The Way There

I got back from McEdinburgh late last night, after visiting McMum to help out a bit. I have a bushel of bow ties to put on eBay and some of McDad's wonderful stylish tweedy clothes to flop about in, although they are two sizes too big.
It was sad to be clearing out and giving away clothes that belonged to my father. There are big bags for the charity shop full of shoes and some very worn-out clothes that nobody would want apart from McDad.
The strangest thing was finding a half-finished dress that McDad's McMum was making, folded up, part in pieces, part sewn up. It has a scent of her- not exactly lavender, I'm not sure what it was, but it's there, folded up in the delicate patterned layers of cotton.

On the way up by train, a very friendly used car salesman got on at York. He was in full Muslim dress, and he was on the way to McEdinburgh pick up a disabled vehicle he'd bought off eBay. We talked small about many things: the best place in the UK to go on holiday (got to be Northumberland), children, Billy Ocean, apples and, of course, cars.
He had helped a Pakistani tourist with his cases. 'Did he say thank you?', I asked. 'No', he laughed,' but I told him it's not like Pakistan here; your cases won't get nicked'. I told him about my brother and sister-in-law getting all of their Christmas presents stolen in a case on their way up to Perthshire on Christmas from a stuffed train, and he looked bemused.
Later, the Pakistani tourist was getting off the train, behind one of those meringue ladies with a stately bust, powder-pink face, pearl earrings and solid pale grey rococo curls. 'I--HELP--YOU', he barked, and hoisted the lady's case out of the luggage rack and into her surprised arms. So he did a good deed in exchange for being helped, and also, I found out moments later, thanked my travelling companion.