While out on the road with work, I have been filling the quiet moments by writing in a notebook. I thought it might be fun to share some excerpts from it with you;
Monday 8th January 2007
Paddington Station. 8:25am. It’s very quiet. Strangely quiet. I wonder what’s going on?
Have been reading “The Adoption” on the way in on the train - good book, although a little close for comfort in places. Had to stop reading more than once.
Why are the people who make coffee in cafs so damn loud? Can they not bang the coffee scoup thing down a bit more quietly? There’s no reason to re-create the artillery barrage from the Somme.
Tuesday 9th January 2007
Paddington Station. 8:25am (again).
It’s almost deserted in the station again. Two guys are sat just out of view, enthusiastically discussing musical instruments - something about a double bass. One of them is English and sounds very voluble about any subject that comes up - the other is either American or Canadian, and much more considered.
An overweight chap is sat just along from me. He has long greasy hair, a blue shirt and tie, and is hunched over his table eating the remains of a fried breakfast while reading the paper.
A silver haired businessman is waiting at the counter in a full length black coat (probably cashmere) - it seems to be some kind of uniform that business people of a certain age are issued with.
The table over in the corner is the one W and I sat at on the morning of our final IVF attempt at the Lister hospital.
Wednesday 10th January 2007
The train took a while to get here today (Paddington once more). The next week or so is turning into a bit of a nightmare - in Stafford on Monday, London on Tuesday, and Leicester on Wednesday. Hopefully things will quieten down after that.
There are two businessmen in the caf this morning with laptops - sat back to back. One of them is sat back, staring at a half empty spreadsheet template, holding a hand on the back of his head. The other one is typing like mad.
A lady is waiting at the counter. She looks like she would have been quite the young thing once upon a time.
Friday 12th January 2007
On the train rolling out of Paddington - 5:05pm. Finally leaving London after what seems like a lifetime - although aware that I may have to come back for many months.
W didn’t sound too perturbed by the idea of me working in London for so long. How on earth I’m going to survive such early mornings is anybody’s guess though.
6.07pm.
Sitting in Maidenhead station, wrapped up in my big thick duffel coat, hat and scarf, with my notebook on my knee, scribbling away. What a studious sight I must make!
The air is quite cold on the platform edge, and I think I hear the train in the gusts of wind from time to time. The various other travellers are huddled on the various benches, or stood stamping their feet - steam puffing from their nostrils that poke out above upturned collars and scarves.
A rumble and a mechanical scream from the other side of the station announce the approach of a fast through train. “Passengers on Platform 2, please stand away from the edge - fast train approaching”. With a roar, a shake of the ground, and a minor earthquake, the train rockets through the train station in the dark like a brightly lit missile.
Nearly home.