1. Ticket rules issued by National Rail are sporadic, unlogical and more frighteningly, unknown to National Rail's actual staff. This happened today on arrival at Liverpool Station's Ticket Office at 10:15am:
Cashier: 'Ello.
Me: Hi there! I have this ticket back to Ipswich for 1pm. My appointment this morning has cancelled and so I would like to head back before 1pm. Like, now. Is that possible? If I need to pay more to make up the difference, that's fine.
Cashier: Let me see what I will cost ya. Ah, it will be another £46.50.
Me: Christ. The original ticket was only £15. I'll wait it out. Bummer.
Cashier: Well, if you can wait until 12pm, you can get on that train.
Me: Really? And I don't have to pay anymore? Ok. That would be fine.
Cashier: Yeah, sure. You can get on the 12o'clock with this ticket.
Me: Groovy. Thanks a lot!
Cashier: Mmmmm.
I got on the 12pm train. I was getting home a little earlier than anticipated. All good.
The ticket officer came around and saw that my ticket had 1pm written on it and he got all eggy. I explained that the Liverpool St ticket officer said that it would be fine to embark on this train. I explained the conversation.
I had to purchase another ticket. I'm miffed and cheesed off. Not only have the London Underground *proper* effed me over yesterday - now I have to deal with a uniformed Nazi into a mini computer as well.
2. On a positive note, the stroll from St Pancras to Liverpool St this morning was most beautiful. It only took 7.5 hours and the sun was shining.
3. The variety of food-stuffs available at stations to a mere mortal like me is most mesmerising. I totally dig London Town. I just ate raw fish for breakfast followed by some cumin chicken soup all washed down with a hot chocolate.
4. I wonder what the toilets are like on this train. I feel most bloated and pressurised, like a gas canister, after eating all that revolting gone-off train station food.
5. Someone walked past my hotel bedroom window last night, I estimate around 4am, and declared, rather loudly: "I really need a poo".
6. What's the etiquette for crossing a road in London when the lights say "red man" but there's nothing coming to run you over?
7. What's the etiquette for crossing a road in London when the lights say "red man" but the traffic is all queued at the traffic lights and not actually moving?
8. What's the etiquette for helping women with pushchairs down the underground stairs?
9. That was a trick. I know the answer to No. 8. But 40people in St. Paul's do not.
10. I had an eye test today. First one ever. The dear optician was most sweet. She asked me to read the letters on the board. I pretended to do this with random letters that statistically had little chance of corresponding correctly with the letters that were actually on the board. Chance was not my friend; I obviously got them all wrong. I fessed to the nice optician that I didn't know what board she was actually on about and would she kindly point out where this said board is actually located.
11. I got a prescription for some glasses. I tried a few pairs on in the shop. They were most unbecoming and aren't my bag at all so I have to say that I not going to bother with this first world problem. As long as I can fasten my children's seat belts then that'll do.
12. The optician made me complete a health questionnaire. They always feel like a trick. No one else was completing one. I'm sure there is a calibration allowance on these types of assessments to accommodate people's truth slipping.
13. I'll get some specs at the weekend. I'm squinting like Rab C Nesbitt just typing this.
Wednesday, 30 April 2014
Tuesday, 29 April 2014
Today's observations 29.04.14
1. I'm in town today. You know. Larnden. My auto correct just changed "observations" to "overstated". How fitting.
2. The tube strike has made my very profitable trip very unprofitable. I'm not sure I can forge the calmness that I should have towards the public sector presently.
3. I was a bit early for my evening appt. I'm in a pub on my own. I have my iPad and crisps and wine and phone. I want another drink. I asked the business suit type guys next to me to keep an eye on my stuff. They said yes. They looked *well* trustworthy. They wore suits. They worked (earwigging) in finance. There's not way thems apples are fraudulent. No way.
4. When someone else is looking after your worldly wares when you are casually ordering another drink at the bar (tres importante), the cashier dude seems awfully slow. You keep peeking, again, very subtlety, at the chaps that you have assigned guardianship of your gear. You don't want to make eye contact. You don't want to appear mistrusting. But, you know, "Franco" is really taking his time printing an effing receipt. I bet my iPad is gone. Ole Franks finger is hovering over the "wants receipt" button with trepidation and confusion. I want a bloody receipt, Frank. Get a wiggle on.
5. They were true. They kept my stuff safe. But they are looking at what I am typing right now so I used some Walkers Ready Salted to guard the screen from prying banker eyes.
6. The Walkers just touched the screen and it opened a Dora the Explorer app. I was afraid that I had lost my witty blog entry.
7. The tube strike has brought out a mixture of feelings in me. I'd like to say they weren't all sour and unforgiving and p*ssed off.
2. The tube strike has made my very profitable trip very unprofitable. I'm not sure I can forge the calmness that I should have towards the public sector presently.
3. I was a bit early for my evening appt. I'm in a pub on my own. I have my iPad and crisps and wine and phone. I want another drink. I asked the business suit type guys next to me to keep an eye on my stuff. They said yes. They looked *well* trustworthy. They wore suits. They worked (earwigging) in finance. There's not way thems apples are fraudulent. No way.
4. When someone else is looking after your worldly wares when you are casually ordering another drink at the bar (tres importante), the cashier dude seems awfully slow. You keep peeking, again, very subtlety, at the chaps that you have assigned guardianship of your gear. You don't want to make eye contact. You don't want to appear mistrusting. But, you know, "Franco" is really taking his time printing an effing receipt. I bet my iPad is gone. Ole Franks finger is hovering over the "wants receipt" button with trepidation and confusion. I want a bloody receipt, Frank. Get a wiggle on.
5. They were true. They kept my stuff safe. But they are looking at what I am typing right now so I used some Walkers Ready Salted to guard the screen from prying banker eyes.
6. The Walkers just touched the screen and it opened a Dora the Explorer app. I was afraid that I had lost my witty blog entry.
7. The tube strike has brought out a mixture of feelings in me. I'd like to say they weren't all sour and unforgiving and p*ssed off.
Saturday, 26 April 2014
Today's observations 26.04.14
1. Despite the proclaimed safety of air travel, you still get an internal blankety warmth of comfort when your loved one texts to say that they've landed. They are *alright*. All was hunky dory with that flying hunk of metal whooshing over the Irish Sea. Ryanair looked after my fella.
2. Now, pubs and inns of fair Dublin, it's a bit of a mission, but would you kindly try and do the same.
3. When you are home alone, you can out all your stuff that you need to hand on the *same seat on which you are sat*. I'm rooted very comfortably on my sofa and on the very same seat is a phone, a packet of crisps, a *balanced glass of wine*, a remote controller, an e-cig, and an iPad. This could never happen if the other residents were also here. It's most civilised.
4. I have ample movies saved in the Sky+ planner; all saved for an occasion such as this. In fact, this is the first time that I have sat, alone, to watch a movie since my first Maternity Leave. The joy theory is sound. Alas, Sky is total shit. I have started, voyeured, and stopped 3movies so far. I'm now on a Ray Winstone one which is guaranteed to be another realm of Cockney crap.
5. Over eager car dancing is very embarrassing. It's impossible to run away from the tirade of finger pointing and laughing when you are queuing at a red light.
6. I fail to see why someone has to take €300 on a night out.
7. When you have known someone a long time, you can predict and *guarantee* their hangover habits. My OHs are cemented. He wakes up merry, a little fruity and jovial. This can be diagnosed as still being pissed. By midday, he quietens significantly and his eyelids droop. By 2pm, he is most eggy. You have to let him sleep, child-free, until around 5pm, where his mood liftens.
8. This is also the same time as the Chinese takeaway opens, which, if I was a cynical sort, would be very convenient timing.
9. I seemed to have misplaced 4packets of crisps on my sofa seat. Someone has swapped them for empty bags instead.
10. Bloody hell, it's quiet.
2. Now, pubs and inns of fair Dublin, it's a bit of a mission, but would you kindly try and do the same.
3. When you are home alone, you can out all your stuff that you need to hand on the *same seat on which you are sat*. I'm rooted very comfortably on my sofa and on the very same seat is a phone, a packet of crisps, a *balanced glass of wine*, a remote controller, an e-cig, and an iPad. This could never happen if the other residents were also here. It's most civilised.
4. I have ample movies saved in the Sky+ planner; all saved for an occasion such as this. In fact, this is the first time that I have sat, alone, to watch a movie since my first Maternity Leave. The joy theory is sound. Alas, Sky is total shit. I have started, voyeured, and stopped 3movies so far. I'm now on a Ray Winstone one which is guaranteed to be another realm of Cockney crap.
5. Over eager car dancing is very embarrassing. It's impossible to run away from the tirade of finger pointing and laughing when you are queuing at a red light.
6. I fail to see why someone has to take €300 on a night out.
7. When you have known someone a long time, you can predict and *guarantee* their hangover habits. My OHs are cemented. He wakes up merry, a little fruity and jovial. This can be diagnosed as still being pissed. By midday, he quietens significantly and his eyelids droop. By 2pm, he is most eggy. You have to let him sleep, child-free, until around 5pm, where his mood liftens.
8. This is also the same time as the Chinese takeaway opens, which, if I was a cynical sort, would be very convenient timing.
9. I seemed to have misplaced 4packets of crisps on my sofa seat. Someone has swapped them for empty bags instead.
10. Bloody hell, it's quiet.
Thursday, 24 April 2014
Today's observations 24.04.14
1. I'm getting uncharacteristically cross about how much chain coffee shops charge for soft drinks. I purchased an orange juice for my two rotten children yesterday in a well-known Coffee house that had sticky carpet. It was £2.20. It's extortionate. There's no way my kids are worth that investment into thirst-reduction.
2. If I was more organised, I would bring my own drinks.
3. If I was more organised, I wouldn't bring the kids.
4. I went to a local nursery "show-around" day yesterday for my oldest child's impending commencement at pre-school. I rocked up there with my rotten children who had a most splendid time showing me up. I jest, of course, there were supremely behaved and had a lovely time at this delicious estate primary. I do hope we get in there. They had the *whole* range of Peppa Pig figurines which firmly confirms to me that their education investment is paramount and uncompromised.
5. I'm not very good at packing shopping whilst at the pay-bit in a supermarket. I was in the leading supermarket today and I had purchased some groceries. I chucked them onto the conveyor belt hastily, because there is no way I will say "Yes" if the cashier asks me if "I want any help packing". Saying yes to that feels the same as saying "Yes please, I'm a total tosser". In hindsight, I should have accepted. My carrier bag packing is terrible. Nothing fits in the gaps in the carrier bag as I wanted them to. My packed carrier bag resembles a game of Tetris played by a toddler.
6. This rather sporadic and ineffective method of organising also renders the already-paltry carrier bag to split, meaning that on arriving home, I have to do the wanky "fast-walk" up the driveway with all the bags, because they are all on the teetering edge of disintegrating and spilling my goods all over the place. I can already see that the polymer is strained on at least three-quarters of the shopping bags, probably caused me shoving 6bottles of wine into one.
7. I had a fail moment today. I deserved it. I was storming around Tescos with my shopping with my toddler strapped to my back like the fantastic superior mud-woman that I am. Check me, buggy brigade. This is how I roll. Halfway through my shopping, my son woke up and realised that we were in the place of dreams. He displayed his excitement of being in the confectionary aisle by, stupidly, sticking his whole fist in his own mouth. I don't know why he did that. He doesn't probably know either. Anyway, it made him gag and he brought up some spick (sick/spit). It went all down my back. I could see the reflection in the freezer cabinet. I was most annoyed. Everyone was looking at me and no doubt wondering why I had a child crucified to my spine in the first place. Especially one that could competently walk. Even the buggy pushers guffawed a little. I was cheesed off with my son. I could have strangled him with my tie-dye. I flip-flopped home with a buttery shoulder and vowed to muzzle child next time.
2. If I was more organised, I would bring my own drinks.
3. If I was more organised, I wouldn't bring the kids.
4. I went to a local nursery "show-around" day yesterday for my oldest child's impending commencement at pre-school. I rocked up there with my rotten children who had a most splendid time showing me up. I jest, of course, there were supremely behaved and had a lovely time at this delicious estate primary. I do hope we get in there. They had the *whole* range of Peppa Pig figurines which firmly confirms to me that their education investment is paramount and uncompromised.
5. I'm not very good at packing shopping whilst at the pay-bit in a supermarket. I was in the leading supermarket today and I had purchased some groceries. I chucked them onto the conveyor belt hastily, because there is no way I will say "Yes" if the cashier asks me if "I want any help packing". Saying yes to that feels the same as saying "Yes please, I'm a total tosser". In hindsight, I should have accepted. My carrier bag packing is terrible. Nothing fits in the gaps in the carrier bag as I wanted them to. My packed carrier bag resembles a game of Tetris played by a toddler.
6. This rather sporadic and ineffective method of organising also renders the already-paltry carrier bag to split, meaning that on arriving home, I have to do the wanky "fast-walk" up the driveway with all the bags, because they are all on the teetering edge of disintegrating and spilling my goods all over the place. I can already see that the polymer is strained on at least three-quarters of the shopping bags, probably caused me shoving 6bottles of wine into one.
7. I had a fail moment today. I deserved it. I was storming around Tescos with my shopping with my toddler strapped to my back like the fantastic superior mud-woman that I am. Check me, buggy brigade. This is how I roll. Halfway through my shopping, my son woke up and realised that we were in the place of dreams. He displayed his excitement of being in the confectionary aisle by, stupidly, sticking his whole fist in his own mouth. I don't know why he did that. He doesn't probably know either. Anyway, it made him gag and he brought up some spick (sick/spit). It went all down my back. I could see the reflection in the freezer cabinet. I was most annoyed. Everyone was looking at me and no doubt wondering why I had a child crucified to my spine in the first place. Especially one that could competently walk. Even the buggy pushers guffawed a little. I was cheesed off with my son. I could have strangled him with my tie-dye. I flip-flopped home with a buttery shoulder and vowed to muzzle child next time.
Monday, 21 April 2014
Today's observations 21.04.14
1. I make some notes sporadically for the sake of blog content. They are here in front of me. No1 says Hotel Vs No Child. I don't know what this means. Hopefully it will become appear apparant further into the blog.
2. I must admit, the crypticism is bothering me.
3. My OH just ran in, all hot and bothered and all that.
4. I'll finish no4 in a minute. I've remembered no1.
5. You rob hotels more when you have children. It's true. The more there is to lift...the more your kids would love it. Unfortunately, my new found memory for this translation cannot think what I was referring to specifically. Ah, yes...notepads and pencils.
6. My OH just ran in and was most excited. "Real Madrid or Bayern Munich!!!! Who's it gonna be! What's gonna happen! Argh! Ahhhh! Gah! God! What's gonna happen Jessie? Bloody hell!". I said that I categorically don't give a flying fig really.
7. We were in our local beer garden today. It really is a most friendly local pub. They know us well. It has a well placed patio garden with *ample* child's toys and amusements. They inflated the bouncey castle just for us. The dear local publican child battled us off, gauntlet style, from approaching the desired inflatable with a Hose-Lokk shower attachment. My children sought a similar arsenal. None was to be found. They instead purchased some "Swee-eez" from the vending machine as a peaceful trade off. It worked. Freddie was won over by the colourful E numbers.
8. Those same colourful "fruit cables" chewy sweets were most interesting. They were so vivid in colour and so starchy in firmness...that they could have actually been attached to a circuit board.
9. Impromptu alcohol. On returning from our beer garden holiday, we arrived home with no means to continue the party. We have still got that 1/4 bottle of vodka in the (still-there) collection of "shed-shite" on the driveway. We have some mulled wine from 2010 (no-one wants to drink that, but we are keeping it for a pre-agreed 25years to see if it turns into an egg) and also, more positively, a bottle of Cava. We opened the Cava. We are celebrating. We are celebrating the world. We don't have anything else to drink as a result of our own bad a planning (and the "FLAVOUR" that crept up naughtily) so we are celebrating our own quick wit of thinking to open the Cava.
10. It's wedding season. People are thinking about getting married, or even actually planning their wedding. No-one asks me what I think about getting married anymore. They know. I'm not a fan of it - and that's putting it mildly. It's worthy of a separate blog to be honest.
2. I must admit, the crypticism is bothering me.
3. My OH just ran in, all hot and bothered and all that.
4. I'll finish no4 in a minute. I've remembered no1.
5. You rob hotels more when you have children. It's true. The more there is to lift...the more your kids would love it. Unfortunately, my new found memory for this translation cannot think what I was referring to specifically. Ah, yes...notepads and pencils.
6. My OH just ran in and was most excited. "Real Madrid or Bayern Munich!!!! Who's it gonna be! What's gonna happen! Argh! Ahhhh! Gah! God! What's gonna happen Jessie? Bloody hell!". I said that I categorically don't give a flying fig really.
7. We were in our local beer garden today. It really is a most friendly local pub. They know us well. It has a well placed patio garden with *ample* child's toys and amusements. They inflated the bouncey castle just for us. The dear local publican child battled us off, gauntlet style, from approaching the desired inflatable with a Hose-Lokk shower attachment. My children sought a similar arsenal. None was to be found. They instead purchased some "Swee-eez" from the vending machine as a peaceful trade off. It worked. Freddie was won over by the colourful E numbers.
8. Those same colourful "fruit cables" chewy sweets were most interesting. They were so vivid in colour and so starchy in firmness...that they could have actually been attached to a circuit board.
9. Impromptu alcohol. On returning from our beer garden holiday, we arrived home with no means to continue the party. We have still got that 1/4 bottle of vodka in the (still-there) collection of "shed-shite" on the driveway. We have some mulled wine from 2010 (no-one wants to drink that, but we are keeping it for a pre-agreed 25years to see if it turns into an egg) and also, more positively, a bottle of Cava. We opened the Cava. We are celebrating. We are celebrating the world. We don't have anything else to drink as a result of our own bad a planning (and the "FLAVOUR" that crept up naughtily) so we are celebrating our own quick wit of thinking to open the Cava.
10. It's wedding season. People are thinking about getting married, or even actually planning their wedding. No-one asks me what I think about getting married anymore. They know. I'm not a fan of it - and that's putting it mildly. It's worthy of a separate blog to be honest.
Friday, 18 April 2014
Today's observations
1. It's bank holiday. Everyone is off and all the shops are shut. What are we supposed to do then?
2. You know it's a public holiday when your OH is *in the shed*. There are now 38empty tins of paint, a dubious air bed, a baby rubber ring, an empty bottle of vodka (?), 12 split bags of charcoal, 3 empty bottles or lighting fluid, a broken parasol, and 155,345 empty wine bottles on our drive.
3. Free to a good home: 38tins of barely used high quality paint. Will need some elbow grease getting them open.
4. Don't ask a child to carry a bag home from the shop. Even if the bag is super light. They don't want to carry anything. They whinge the entire return trip home.
5. All that shed shite is still on the driveway. I wonder if there is a further plan for them.
6. Getting an extra day off is not as much fun when you are self employed.
7. Bank Holidays bring new uncovered family observations. We are all together for a longer period of time. I've noticed:
A. My children complain *all the time*.
B. They both have an insatiable requirement of *wanting* something at any given point in the day. They are seldom satisfied with not having been given something.
C. We have quite a lot of unused paint.
D. We all have a desire to have a BBQ, even if the climate doesn't quite suit.
8. When you try and place a new item into our refrigerator, all the condiments fall over. This really winds me up. We have 16 bottles of half-used pickles, creams, relishes, sauces and mayos. We could do with a separate fridge just for these.
9. We held a child's birthday party this week. I've written about birthday party etiquette before. I have a new addition to the list. I'd like to point out that, when there are 3bottles of lemonade that are already open, you don't need to open another one. On cleaning up yesterday morning, there were 4bottles of lemonade that all had had 1 glass taken from them. Groan.
10. Someone started the second coleslaw prematurely too.
2. You know it's a public holiday when your OH is *in the shed*. There are now 38empty tins of paint, a dubious air bed, a baby rubber ring, an empty bottle of vodka (?), 12 split bags of charcoal, 3 empty bottles or lighting fluid, a broken parasol, and 155,345 empty wine bottles on our drive.
3. Free to a good home: 38tins of barely used high quality paint. Will need some elbow grease getting them open.
4. Don't ask a child to carry a bag home from the shop. Even if the bag is super light. They don't want to carry anything. They whinge the entire return trip home.
5. All that shed shite is still on the driveway. I wonder if there is a further plan for them.
6. Getting an extra day off is not as much fun when you are self employed.
7. Bank Holidays bring new uncovered family observations. We are all together for a longer period of time. I've noticed:
A. My children complain *all the time*.
B. They both have an insatiable requirement of *wanting* something at any given point in the day. They are seldom satisfied with not having been given something.
C. We have quite a lot of unused paint.
D. We all have a desire to have a BBQ, even if the climate doesn't quite suit.
8. When you try and place a new item into our refrigerator, all the condiments fall over. This really winds me up. We have 16 bottles of half-used pickles, creams, relishes, sauces and mayos. We could do with a separate fridge just for these.
9. We held a child's birthday party this week. I've written about birthday party etiquette before. I have a new addition to the list. I'd like to point out that, when there are 3bottles of lemonade that are already open, you don't need to open another one. On cleaning up yesterday morning, there were 4bottles of lemonade that all had had 1 glass taken from them. Groan.
10. Someone started the second coleslaw prematurely too.
Tuesday, 15 April 2014
Today's observations 15.04.14
1. I don't get the rage that much, but a commuter sitting in the aisle seat of a packed train, therefore blocking access to the empty seat next to him, gives me the 'ump. Especially when the sweaty prat folds down the table of the empty seat, so it looks "occupied". It doesn't look occupied. It looks available. You gormless inconsiderate prat. See this finger? I'd like to poke it into your eyeball, you arrogant tool.
2. Whilst I'm on that that topic, oh witless one, don't *for one second* think that burying your red nose deep into a newspaper makes that seat any less available. Just because you are mock-engaged into Metro, it doesn't strip another seat-less commuter's ability to get you to move your fat arse.
3. Whilst waiting to disembark the train (and additionally wait to be thrown forward into the adjoining carriage on the train stopping with the grace of the aforementioned seat-thief) I took a look around at the other impatient commuters who were hanging around the train doors, wanting to get off as soon as the train stopped and hence wasting no time getting home. There's the usual non-eye contact. There's the usual lanky bloke with the fold-up bike. There's the OAP lady with more luggage than anyone else in the world ever. There's the suit who is still fiddling around with his blackberry. There's the Sloany teen with her long legs, beads and plimsols who is still picking the Chicken Flatbread that she started an hour ago. There's the builder who still has his high-viz on. There's the middle aged woman-chums who are squiffy from their shopping trip. Everyone has earphones in. Everyone is listening to music. No-body can actually hear anyone else. It's bizarre. You could shriek, whistle, swear, announce a platform change, cackle or fart, and nobody would hear you.
4. The OAP has no ear phones. But I imagine that her hearing is a little weaker than the others in any case.
5. I feel all swishy when I walk through stations. Like I'm famous or important or something. I also like to imagine that I'm meeting a loved one after a long absence. I have no idea why I do this. I'd wager I talk to myself too. Because of those damn earphones I can't hear anything anyway.
6. I played it cool. I was walking down the platform to get on the train that would take me home. It was 5:28. The train was leaving at 5:30. I took my time. The fellow passengers already seated on the train no doubt looked at me with admiration; me looking all clam and cool, walking down the platform, looking for an available seat through the windows, not in a hurry because the train would leave soon. I'm a regular commuter, I'm a worldly bird, I'm London savvy. Check me out with my assured stroll further down the platform.
7. Then a uniformed bloke blew a whistle and I started running and leapt into the train. The change in my gait and expression was likely quite comical.
2. Whilst I'm on that that topic, oh witless one, don't *for one second* think that burying your red nose deep into a newspaper makes that seat any less available. Just because you are mock-engaged into Metro, it doesn't strip another seat-less commuter's ability to get you to move your fat arse.
3. Whilst waiting to disembark the train (and additionally wait to be thrown forward into the adjoining carriage on the train stopping with the grace of the aforementioned seat-thief) I took a look around at the other impatient commuters who were hanging around the train doors, wanting to get off as soon as the train stopped and hence wasting no time getting home. There's the usual non-eye contact. There's the usual lanky bloke with the fold-up bike. There's the OAP lady with more luggage than anyone else in the world ever. There's the suit who is still fiddling around with his blackberry. There's the Sloany teen with her long legs, beads and plimsols who is still picking the Chicken Flatbread that she started an hour ago. There's the builder who still has his high-viz on. There's the middle aged woman-chums who are squiffy from their shopping trip. Everyone has earphones in. Everyone is listening to music. No-body can actually hear anyone else. It's bizarre. You could shriek, whistle, swear, announce a platform change, cackle or fart, and nobody would hear you.
4. The OAP has no ear phones. But I imagine that her hearing is a little weaker than the others in any case.
5. I feel all swishy when I walk through stations. Like I'm famous or important or something. I also like to imagine that I'm meeting a loved one after a long absence. I have no idea why I do this. I'd wager I talk to myself too. Because of those damn earphones I can't hear anything anyway.
6. I played it cool. I was walking down the platform to get on the train that would take me home. It was 5:28. The train was leaving at 5:30. I took my time. The fellow passengers already seated on the train no doubt looked at me with admiration; me looking all clam and cool, walking down the platform, looking for an available seat through the windows, not in a hurry because the train would leave soon. I'm a regular commuter, I'm a worldly bird, I'm London savvy. Check me out with my assured stroll further down the platform.
7. Then a uniformed bloke blew a whistle and I started running and leapt into the train. The change in my gait and expression was likely quite comical.
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