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The long trek home on a hot bank holiday Monday, where I would dearly have been sitting in the garden with my family. Instead I was sitting opposite Michael Legge with his Michael Sheen face and next to producer Ben who was busy editing some podcast or other and laughing (so it wasn’t one of mine). I plodded along with the book and the sitcom, the latter still feeling like it was a million miles away from being ready (but I had at least had a couple of positive ideas by the end of the trip).
Finally Birmingham New Street arrived at the train (I fully believe that the world is not only flat, but it is only one room and everything is done by projections and I am the only real human being. Prove me wrong science! With all your projected scientists.
I had about an hour to kill before my train and wandered around the impressive shopping centre around the station (you’ve changed Birmingham) and had some lunch.
My next journey was to Peterborough and the train was packed. This was the only part of the journey (there or back) that I had a seat reservation for. But I was meant to be sitting in coach C, seat 51A and the numbers didn’t go up that high. Someone else arrived to find someone with a reservation sitting in the same seats that they had reserved. It was a bank holiday disaster.
I found a seat opposite a man who was drinking beer and eating dried seeds - I didn’t like to look at him too closely, but he seemed to be pulling kernels off a very dried up looking corn on the cob and putting them in a plastic bag for later consumption. The train didn’t leave at the right time and the announcement were being made by a train driver who seemed to be talking under water. But after 20 or so minutes it became clear that the train had broken down and we needed to board another one on a different platform. The man with the corn on the cob was really angry.
I was worried I would miss my next train and miss out on crepuscular drinks with my family. But the replacement train was not only much bigger (it was like it knew it had been meant to do the original trip, but had sent its little brother to do it instead, but the little train had choked under the pressure) but also worked. So I had a table to myself. I missed the angry seed and beer man though.
I got to Peterborough with a few minutes to spare and jumped on a train to Hitchin and was home just before 5pm. Phoebe was playing with some boys from nursery in the garden, squelching around in mud from the overspill to the paddling pool. I had a gin and tonic and blew some bubbles. At least I had an hour of bank holiday fun with the family.
I enjoyed bath time and bed time stories, having missed this occasional chore for a few days. Machynlleth was fun (on Sunday at least) but I think I’d rather have had the weekend at home. Hopefully this is a step in the slow process of learning to turn things down.
Very good to be home even if I was untanned by the weekend sun.
