Ooh, I know you live for these sorts of blogs. The blogs where something actually happened which I can document, but yet if someone was telling you would last about ten seconds maximum.
I was in my hometown of Northampton this morning, but now I’m in lovely Poole again. I’m basking in –1C temperatures – positively a heat wave – no snow and back to people cutting in my path and walking slowly. Hoorah.
Back home I was quite happy waking up at whatever time I happened to wake up, which was generally about 11am. Stroll into the shower at half 11, get all dried and dressed so I can have breakfast before midday (which to me is the cut-off point for breakfast. It becomes lunch, then, okay? Don’t eat more stuff.) and generally do nothing of merit until going to sleep at stupid O’clock at night.
Well I had to set my alarm for the ungodly hour of 7am this morning. I know! Jesus. What does this world thing I am? My mum waved me off at about ten to 10, and off I went on tour d’train.
Let’s just back up a second. While me and my mum were waiting in the little foyer bit of Northampton train station, I heard a familiar voice shout an all-to-heart-warming phrase – “CRATT MOUCH!”. James and Wendy were going for a bit of a London trip for Wendy’s birthday. They got on my train, but we didn’t talk all that much (I’m not one for playing gooseberry). I hope they had fun, because I had to get off at Watford Junction before their stop at London Euston. Sounded like they would do, though.
Obviously, me being me, ignoring all constant reminders, I didn’t mind the gap between the train and the platform edge. I slipped on the ice, but didn’t fall over. I kept my dignity, for the most part, or any of it that was left when I was complaining the door wouldn’t open by me pressing the ‘close’ button…
Then it was another hour of relentless boredom to fight as I travelled to Clapham Junction. Every time I pass it on the way to London I see the sign “The busiest train station in the UK” and think “Urm… no? There’s nobody there, and it’s about five minutes from Waterloo. Who uses that?”. Turns out it’s a lot of people. There’s 16 platforms, and everyone wanting to get to each one as soon as possible. Why didn’t I see all these people? They’re all underground like Wombles, just scurrying from platform to platform trying not to spill any of their latte.
I really needed a wee, too. But it was one of those “Pay 20p to spend a penny” ones. Screw that, I’ll pee for free in the shitty little train toilets, thanks very much. Thing was, it was a half hour wait. But I managed it. Nothing like annoying everyone by making a racket pacing up and down with a holdall with wheels. Especially those poncy London business-types.
Anyhoozle. By this point, I got bored and started taking pictures and videos, and singing along to I’ve Gotta Feeling when nobody was watching. I had a bit of fun with a rail replacement at Southampton, but that was about it. Exciting stuff.
Eventually by about 4pm, I got into Poole. Immediately hindered by ice and people walking in front of me, I knew I was back where I belonged for now. It’s a bit weird being back in student accommodation, though. It’s got that feeling like when you visit one of your old schools. You know your way, but it doesn’t feel the same as it did. I soon settled in, though, after getting the post and making a sausage sandwich. Ahh. I’m back in Poole…
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