Looking for luggage, finding the Red Cow

You see the world from public transport. Take, for instance, a young fellow this morning on the train to Penrith. He was with a couple of friends who understood how to keep a private conversation private. He, on the other hand, wanted everyone to share his skilful use of profanity.

“He fucking drinks too much. I told him he fucking needs more than just fucking alcohol. He needs food and that shit, too. He’s fucking stupid. I fucking told him.” He said about a so-called friend.

There’s no doubt a lot you can say about the NSW education system but it clearly failed to teach this guy many words.

Happily, for the rest of the carriage, he got off at Lawson.

The bus down to the station, on the other hand, was empty but for me and the driver.

Eventually, and happily, I arrived at Penrith Station, somewhere I’ve not been for many a year.

I was in Penrith to buy a new suitcase.

After a lot of searching, the best option was to head for Strand Bags, which is in Westfield Plaza. When I lived here it was simply called The Plaza, and it was where kids hung out being delinquents.

In fact, I remember walking to The Plaza one day with Glenn. We were stopped by a policeman who wanted to know why we were walking so slow, suspecting we were drunk or on drugs. I explained that Glenn had hurt his foot, and we were going as fast as we could.

After the policeman had gone, Glenn told me off. He reckoned we should have told the copper to take us to the police station and test us. This, I explained, would have been a bad idea given he’d have probably beaten us up. These are the sort of memories I have of Penrith.

The Plaza now only exists as a subtitle.

And would you believe it, the first thing I spotted was a Starbucks. Obviously I had to have my usual and, as usual, it was almost as good as one of Sue’s. In any event, it was much better than the one I had in Stockholm.

Having enjoyed my unexpected treat, I went on the hunt for Strand Bags. I came across a touch screen, just by the bit of Westfield split in half by a road. The touch screen map showed me which way I was facing, then where to go. It was across the road and down towards what I think was the original Penrith Plaza.

I had no problem finding the shop and buying a brilliant suitcase with excellent wheels. I proceeded to wheel it back to the station. However, there was one final thing I had to do in Penrith.

The only thing about the station that has not changed is the Red Cow Hotel, a drinking hole I’d known many years ago. Obviously, I had to have a drink. And, while it’s changed inside and in the beer garden, everything else was like stepping into my own past.

I don’t really care that my old home town has changed completely but, I have to say, it’s rather pleasing when some things remain the same.

And speaking of things being the same, it’s interesting how some things are no different, no matter the hemisphere.

Sitting directly facing the sign above is a man who didn’t stop using his phone. It rang at least five times, and he had sounds going off when he wasn’t talking. Arriving at Wentworth Falls Station, he then stood in front of the touch out pole, looking at his phone and holding everyone else up.

I’d texted Mirinda from Lawson, letting her know when I’d arrive. She came and met me and we did some grocery shopping before heading back to the house. Fi had gone for a bush walk, so we spent a little while throwing a tennis ball off the verandah for Archie to lose. He’s very good at losing tennis balls. I thought Emma was the champion but Archie is exceptional at it.

Upon her return, Fi told us about her freaky finger. When the other nine are warm, one finger remains cold. She had frostbite once, when she went outside in the cold and, ever since, this one finger never gets warm. I think Coldfinger would be an excellent Bond villain. I therefore spent a bit of time singing the theme song to Goldfinger, substituting the word ‘cold’ for ‘gold’.