A Long Slow Journey Home

I left the office at 12:30 this afternoon. The lady on reception in the office building called a cab for me, and I busied myself with calling home while waiting. After a few minutes a car rolled up outside the main entrance, and I dragged my bags out into the rain.

Twenty minutes later I found myself navigating the touch-screens of the ticket machines at the railway station, before buying some food, and waiting patiently for the next train to rumble in on it’s way from Scotland to London. The train arrived exactly when it was supposed to, and I wandered through the carriages until I found a seat that wasn’t reserved, so sat quietly, waiting to find out who would be sitting next to me.

“You’re sitting in my seat”

A pretty blonde lady was standing over me. There was an empty seat next to me – I had shuffled along to make it easy for the next person, but no – apparently I was sitting in her seat, and the empty seat next to me was the available seat. I apologised, and leapt up so we could switch places.

I didn’t really think anything more about her until she got off the train half an hour later – and left the empty wrappers from her lunch all over the table. I thought about shouting “Oy! What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”, but of course didn’t. I wish I had. I have a chip on my shoulder about people who won the genetics jackpot being unthinking, rude, and shallow.

The rest of the journey home was pretty uneventful. The London Underground was predictably insane, and the train from Paddington towards home ridiculously overcrowded.

Snow was forecast tonight. I saw a little half-way down the country, but none after that. I trudged the ten minutes home from the railway station through driving rain, banged on the front door, and our eldest opened it.

“Dad! You’re home!”

Suddenly the tiredness, annoyances, and grumpiness fell away.

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