Oh Trevor, I think I have something in my eye.
Oh Celia. Here, let me, with my handkerchief.
At Carnforth Station we were invited to pay to park but it was late in the afternoon so we didn't have long. Instead, Trevor drove over the railway bridge, dropped Celia and went to find somewhere he could park for free. Big mistake. Celia found herself abandoned amongst goods vehicles in the back of beyond, and Trevor was gone! No access to the station platform or tea room. No brief encounter with anyone, just lorries. She walked back over the bridge to arrive, without Trevor, just as the tea room closed. No tea, no brief encounter. Trevor and Celia were out of luck. Once more to the back of beyond, but Trevor had not returned. No sign of him. From the bridge, she looked forlornly down on railway track and an empty platform. A fast train was speeding toward her. For a second, it seemed she might jump.
Come on, this is Brief Encounter not Anna Karenina, not Ariadne auf Naxos . She summoned all the abandoned women in literature. Get over it! Go home to husband and kiddies.
She found the car, but no Trevor. He was out there somewhere, searching for Celia. At last, Celia and Trevor found each other. And dropped the role-play, drove somewhere along the coast and made tea for themselves and laughed about it all. Only Trevor knows quite why he couldn't stop laughing, and he wouldn't say.
Scout Scar might give some of the best views in Cumbria, but Great British Railway Journeys showed merely woodland in summer. This morning was louring, with an eerie light that was soon lost entirely. Mist hung over Morecambe Bay and presumably over the Brief Encounter tea room.
And it's still raining in Cumbria!