I was sitting on a fast train, lost in a million thoughts.
Hmm, well maybe not exactly a million, as this is a very high number when associated with thoughts. It was a fair few anyway. Nothing life-changing, like a medical breakthrough for Cancer, or a solution for world peace. Just, you know, stuff.
I was actually thinking about Tommy’s dinners for the week, the International Mailing Tender in the office, I was also wondering when I’d have time to make cards for forthcoming birthdays, and reflecting on the book I’d purchased to read during my commutes.
It was only when an American voice disrupted my thoughts, I was brought back to present time.
And to be honest, I was a little disappointed.
It's not that I'm against American accents. In fact, I am partial to a southern accent which was the origin of this one. It's not that I'm an enemy of the person the voice belonged to. It was because the American was my new publisher in the office, and she happens to live literally around the corner to my parent’s chalet bungalow.
You know what that meant, dear readers? It meant I had company on the train. All the way. All nearly two hours of my commuting. No thinking or reading allowed!
I like thinking. I like sitting on a train, staring out the window and processing my thoughts. I also like reading. If I’m not thinking, I’m equally as happy submerging myself in a fulfilling book.
Not that I’m complaining, but I rarely have time to myself these days, life revolves around Tommy and the office. Therefore, train journeys are my luxury, they provide me with the time to think. Or read.
So I’m a little unsociable when I’m travelling. Is this an impolite thing to admit? I would rather sit by myself and loose myself, which is not something possible when in company.
Back to the American voice.
This is why I was disappointed. I had to actually participate in a conversation in my carriage, and I was out of practice to say the least.
However, the new publisher is the friendly type. We were soon dissecting our lives and chatting away like old friends.
The most difficult part of the journey? Apart from sacrificing my thinking or reading, the trickiest part was trying to discreetly text Mark about his dirty socks.
I’d decided it would be considered rude to not offer the new American publisher a lift home. She did live literally around the corner to my parent’s chalet bungalow after all. It was approximately twenty minutes walking as opposed to five minutes driving.
But I was concerned about Mark’s socks. Let me explain that I am the neatest, tidiest, cleanest (well to the best of my abilities within the time frame), person at home. But in car it’s a different matter entirely.
I suppose you could say I’m always in a rush in our automobile. In a rush to get somewhere, and always pre-occupied with Tommy. The car suffers. It is not very clean or tidy. I was also aware of the pair of Mark’s worn socks on the back ledge.
Our car was not a great impression of our personalities.
So I was panicking slightly, during this mentioned train journey. The nearer we became to our destination, the more I worried about our personal care and carelessly strewn objects.
Somehow I managed to text Mark: Dirty socks and car, will offer publisher lift!
He got it. He knows how I stress about these things and so he cleaned and tidied our car, before the train arrived and before I walked around the corner, with an apprehensive look on my face.
And he removed the offending socks.
But guess what happened next?
The publisher politely declined my offer of a lift. Said she had her trainers and enjoyed the walk and peering in people’s gardens.
After all that worrying.
Still, the car finally got cleaned. And we have decided to keep it tidy just in case this should happen again.
Let’s not expect miracles, hey dear readers.