Right, so not much to say here. The ferry was late to the dock by an hour and a half because the other ferry was busy loading the damned motorbikes for bloody TT, and I missed the lasted train from Liverpool to Carlisle. I met a chap on the ferry over though, Chris, who was in the same state as me. He and I were originally just going to split a taxi over to Lime Street station, but after the ferry was so late, both of us had missed our trains and were up a creek. He took a taxi with me to the coach bus station, paid for it, and took me to a nearby pub and bought me a beer as well. Even though we were both in a sorry state of things (me having to pay 6 pound to get to Manchester instead of just taking the train for free with my pass) he was a jolly fine fellow who chatted with a guard on my behalf and got me the best route and fixed me up right.

Trip was alright, except I couldn’t sleep so that I wouldn’t miss my bus. Met a fellow named Roger on the first bus up who also took pity on me and stayed with me at the train station in Manchester (ironically, like Chris, he was leaving the Isle of Man for the TT races because he didn’t like them). Then just one last taxicab from the depot here in Carlisle to my Travel Inn (where they almost lost my reservation apparently, and it was the capper to an…amazing night.

Bloody hell. Need sleep. Don’t know why I’m bothering to write this but I don’t think I’ll remember it in the morning I’m so knackered.