Slow train journeys in rural England sure are an experience. You're going ten miles and it takes a day and a half because it stops at every lamp-post and the announcement says "The next station stop is Ferretley" or something and you think "I didn't know that was a place" and you get there and it isn't
BTW today I met a person who's at least 50, uses they/it pronouns, and named themself Wyvern. It looks like if Santa was a biker and it plays D&D at the local library. Just a reminder that you can do whatever you want, forever.
Just talked my cousin who has a stronger claim to the throne than me into undergoing the ceremony which will initiate him into manhood several years early so that when I have him assassinated I won't be labeled a child killer in the barbaric but rigid customs of my Norse-tinged civilization