I’m currently sitting at the station waiting to go home after spending the night at mum’s house. I’ve really enjoyed myself, but had a minor heart attack when I discovered this morning that I had several missed calls from The Bloke and I instantly had horrible thoughts that something bad had happened to one of the cats. It turns out that he’d managed to lock himself out of the house, AGAIN, and this meant that he’d have to get the train up to visit his family today instead of driving. Thank goodness I have my keys with me, but it has meant that I’ve had to leave a little earlier than anticipated in order to get home before he does.
Small train stations are miserable places in the UK, particularly when the weather is cold and windy. The platform is quiet and the air is punctuated by the sound of a screaming child and the occasional announcement over the tannoy system by a woman who clearly lost her passion for her job years ago. There’s a man that has been hovering near me for the last ten minutes. I know what’s coming next: he’s going to sit next to me, ask me what my name is, where I am going and them ask me if I smoke and can he have a cigarette. I don’t mind talking to people – I’ve had lots of different conversations during train journeys and I always find them really interesting, but I always attract the cigarette hunters, despite the fact that I don’t smoke that often and rarely have them on me…
Nope, I was wrong. He wanted 20 pence. I’m not quite sure why he wanted such a small amount, but gave it him anyway.
The train is due in five minutes. I’m going to try and catch up on your comments. Hope you’re enjoying your Sunday!