On the day:
05/03:2013
On the way:
The train arrives. The door opens.
The first woman, elderly, in a warm fawn coat, carefully considers this startling innovation to her immediate environment, this opening in front of her, then, with all the alacrity of an arthritic chameleon, reaches out for the hand rail, and climbs on. Fair enough.
Then the second, in her thirties, cropped hair, grey coat with big gold buttons, grass green shopping bag, carefully considers this startling innovation to her immediate environment, this opening in front of her, then, with the speed and spring of a grounded bradypus, or three-toed sloth, reaches out for the hand rail, and climbs on. Come on. It's not like you've never seen a train door opening before.
Ringdingading. The bell sounds to announce the imminent closure of the doors.
Then the third woman, mid-twenties, slim, slick as a sealion in office black, with long, dark hair that won't grow, carefully considers this startling innovation to her immediate environment, this opening in front of her, then, with the kind of balletic jete you might expect from of a mature walrus, reaches out for the hand rail, and climbs on. You're kidding, right?
And a fourth, early twenties, an uneccessarily large magenta bow set to 'fascinate' tied on just behind her hairline above her left eyebrow, carefully considers this startling innovation to her immediate environment, this opening in front of her...
Oh please it's not a funeral; its two or three stops on the train, not a journey into that bourne from which no traveller returns.
Although sometimes...
On the pod:
Soon - My Bloody Valentine
On the front page:
Failings in NHS cost 30,000 lives every year (The Times)
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