We awoke a little late. I think we have a plausible excuse (see the preceding 55 hours).
As I should have anticipated, there were no trains stopping at Ashfield because of track work. I mean -- it's only been a decade and more that those tracks have been worked on at the weekend.
We ordered a wheelchair taxi to take us to Central station. It was twenty minutes late, the reasons for which appear to be the subject of dispute between the booking service and the driver. Difficult Dougie advised both of them he did not give a flying fuck whose fault it was. We simply needed to be at the station in time to board the 12:06, Sydney to Canberra.
(Editor's Note: Douglas did not actually use the words "I do not give a flying fuck whose fault it was". Difficult Dougie never swears; not because he does not want to but because it's bad tactics.)
We got out of the taxi at ten to twelve. We were on the platform at five to twelve. So were all the other passengers because the train was still being cleaned before boarding. TrenItalia, this is not. It's 'only' a train between Australia's largest city and the capital of the twelfth largest national economy in the world.
Last journey. Final train.
And then we were home. ThistleTheCat reunited with her human. All's well in the world.
