So Em and I paid the difference to travel first class because it’s nice to have a quiet space before returning to London. (It’s also cheaper to travel first when booked early than it is to travel standard off-peak booked nearer the day. Go figure.)
We don’t do it, however, to listen to some chav family shrieking at the top of their voices for the ENTIRE journey.
Gruesome bunch. Like the Royle family on acid.
Yes. It’s snow. Yes, it is snowing heavily. We have snow down south too.
No. Harry shouldn’t be running up and down the carriage. No. He really shouldn’t. AT ALL.
Parenting skills much?
And now, according to the nice lady on the intercom, the points are frozen. We are stuck here together a little longer. This is my punishment for blogging about them.
So often on the evening commute home I am struck by the conceit that my opinions and reflections are somehow worth sharing. I might be walking on a Cornish cliff top, sitting in a meeting or wading through the crowds in town and something will occur to me that I want to capture in words. Sometimes I manage to do so. More often I don’t.
For years I have promised myself that I would find the right moment to start inflicting those words on the world by blogging. As with most things in life, however, it takes a coincidence of inspiration, motivation and environment to get me started. Sat here with Em, in front of a roaring fire, snow falling outside on the Lincolnshire Wolds, surrounded by friends, coffee and satsumas, and with more than five minutes to think, that moment seems to have arrived.
I sincerely apologise now to anyone I offend in the days, weeks, months and years ahead. I certainly hope I manage to offend someone…