Travelling To London

Sat on the train as early morning light stutters between the trees and the train windows, briefly illuminating the carriage, and making me squint. When I first got on the train, I got the netbook out, but ended up putting it away because I became paranoid that somebody was peeking through the gaps between the seats, watching what I was writing (when I got up to change trains, there was nobody there). The following stream of consciousness was scribbled in the Moleskine The alarm on my mobile phone would have gone off at 5:30am had I not woken up 1 minute before, and disabled it. I stared at the ceiling for half an hour before finally tipping myself out, and down the stairs for a shower and shave. All plans to catch the early train went out of the window. Oh crap now we’re stopping at Maidenhead station. It’s 7:40am. I’m getting paranoid “ I don’t remember the commute into London ever coming through this side of the station am I on the right platform? Why are the information panels not working? Why do they NEVER work when you need them to? The announcer is trying to tell the passengers something on the PA system, but some idiotic woman is talking over it. She thinks her conversation is far more important than the announcer. Oh, that’s rich “ she just figured out everybody is staring in a threatening manner at her, and is now asking her friend what the announcer is saying The fat bald guy sat in front of me has gone to find out what’s happening. He’s coming back. “We’re waiting for the train on platform 4, and the station announcer thinks I’m an asshole”. Good to know. Thankfully, the train is moving again. Only a few minutes added to the journey. It’s remarkably empty “ must be because the schools are on half-term this week. There’s a guy sat across from me using a Macbook. He seems to be doing nothing more than monkeying around with a page template in Pages “ and not actually doing anything. Perhaps he just wants to be seen to be using his Mac in public “ he fits the stereotype “ expensive jeans, shaved head, designer glasses We’re arriving at Slough (the town made famous by the “Come Friendly Bombs” poem by John Betjeman). Loads of people are waiting to get on the train. Better put the notebook away, and prepare to get kicked and elbowed.