The low sun dazzles over the regimented rooftops of London where ranks of terracotta chimney pots line up five abreast and in the distance the tall office blocks of the city climb high amongst the cranes of progress and historic church towers. Down below, wage slaves make their way resolutely by car, bicycle and shanks’ pony to their places of thrall.
At breakfast a couple arrives, deposits a phone and ipad to mark their territory and departs for the buffet.
A young girl with well groomed blonde hair rolls her suitcase by, telling her friend …this morning when I counted how many pairs of knickers I’ve got… The end of the conversation was left unheard. Three of them trundle down the ramp outside my window table bound for destinations unknown.
Plenty of time before I run for a bus. I am catching the ten oh six home. The Arsenal FC under twelve Development Squad queue up for their own team coach.
Great time last night with Colin, Dave and, earlier, Tracey before she had to dash to catch a train to Winchester. The Delhi Brasserie curry house just squeezed us in. At the Phoenix Arts Club we tweaked a few cocktails in preparation for the bash in two weeks time. Less than that now. The club was hosting Meta for its own Christmas party. Where trefbash goes… Christmas parties get earlier every year.
…
Back in my cocoon in Coach E seat 2. Banging out some tunes, brain switched off. It is Friday after all. Black Friday. I’ve finished my crumpets and selfishly thinking they need to bring me a cup of tea before serving everyone else their bacon rolls. A fine but cold morning.
The trolley eventually wheels in. A cheery attendant asks if I’d like a drink. Yes please cup of tea white no sugar. Would you like milk with that? Please. Sugar? No thanks. 🙂
A pleasant day ahead. Couple of phone calls to make. THG is out somewhere with some mates. Gotta be done. Lots of water fills the ground in the furrowed fields beyond the borough of Pete.
Now listening to Bob Dylan. Early stuff. Poetic genius. His autobiography is similarly poetic. Prose that rolls effortlessly off the tongue. It’s all about which words you string together in what order. May you stay forever young.
As we approach Grantham it seems to have clouded over. I’m sure this is not a reflection of Grantham though it could be. The place where the sun never shines. Make of that what you will.
Train manager walks up and down, trainee train manager in tow. What do you want to be when you grow up? It’s a job. Great if you’ve always wanted to travel.
Interestingly I just got my hotel bill from last night. Just the room and one pint of beer at £7. There is also a “bar food” line item at £0.88 which just happens to be 12.5% of £7. When I left the bar there was noone to give me anything to sign off so I assumed it would take care of itself. 12.5% looks like a service charge which you normally assume goes to the staff but if it’s down as bar food it is hard to see how that would be the case.