Saturday 21 December 2013

I am stood in a bike storage facility on a train from Birmingham to Manchester. Definitely the one person everyone should look to when they think they’re having a bad Christmas. “Hey, you whose family all just died in an accident, are you in the small bit between train carriages with 14 other people?” Of course they’re not. They’re having the time of their life. If anything they’ve got more room than they need now. And they would say I’m self-centred.

An old woman pushes through the crowd and stares at me accusingly. I think my sin is that I’m not a WC on the train. I try to make my face say “if you’re annoyed that I’m not a toilet then I don’t know what you want me to do about it.” With a touch of, “I’m sorry for looking at you a bit aggressively if you don’t wish I was a toilet and you’ve just forgotten where you are/mistaken me for an enemy from your past.”

Not sure I’ve perfected that face, though. So I think my face ends up saying, “I wish you all the best  on the day of your nephew’s confirmation.”

It’s situations not much different from this from which major international incidents grow. I avert my eyes from her gaze and watch the first episode of Borgen (again). I really must stick with it this time. Apart from anything else I need to get the second and third series off my Sky box, I really am worried at the moment as I’m down to below 20%.

This is where I lived for about 1hr 40 minutes today:

Great view

Great view

At least I had a place for my coat.

At least I had a place for my coat.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in blog. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s