Coffee

Beautiful spring-like day. Sun shining, birds chirping, sky Wedgwood blue, world fresh and new.  Winter possibly over, loud sing cuccu.  Soak up sun’s ray on platform to build up Vitamin D levels whilst awaiting train (cancelled) and inspecting suspicious red labels with mysterious numbers on trunks of tree friends on railway embankment. Train arrive, not fresh and new but sameoh-sameoh.

Eye carriage for optimum seating opportunity, i.e one with free newspaper occupying seat by itself, and find one opposite chunky middle-aged married bloke with white earphones trailing down chest, reading paperback with custard-yellow cover. Lanky young bloke with Che Guevara facial hair and carefree gypsy scarf sat adjacent, texting.  Mind would naturally start to focus on morning cappuccino at this point, however, as catastrophically broke, last night undertook first ever serious review of bank statement and discovered to horror that in January spent £30 on morning cappuccino.  Extravagance similar to Nero’s. No excuse for spendthrift ways as have coffee at home and coffee in office.  Will not spend any more money on cappuccinos for rest of year.

Notice girl nearby holding coffee.

Mustmustmustmustmustmustmustmustmustmustmustmustmustmustnot buy coffee.

Buy cappuccino at Wimbledon station.

Freezing cold at Wimbledon, coffee nice and hot, serving not only to kick start day but also excellent hand-warmer. Pigeon will have to eat baked beans until pay-day.

In afternoon, leave work early to travel to Woking to start new stress management course, part of burn-out rehab. As half-term, and South Ken tube station like Chicago stockyards, am stressed out before arrive at stress management course.  Take Portsmouth train from Clapham Junction, where heart sinks to boots when family back from jaunt to South Ken cultural hub pile into seats behind. Fortunately, mother of group appears to be commuter, well-aware of commuter intolerance of anyone under 30 not carrying briefcase and especially if linked to push-chair and even more so if travelling on commuter train at half-term, as instruction to brood, ‘You are going to have to sit still and be relatively un-annoying’, suggest.  Good work by mamma.  Read Evening Standard given hope by mamma’s next statement as pull out of Clapham Junction.

‘Let’s see what we can see out of window.’  Child management on par with Mary Poppins’s.

‘Grass’, pipes infant as train passes through one of most densely built up areas in Britain. ‘Trees. Water. I can see grass water trees.  Are barges on our list?’

Give up on Evening Standard and concentrate on finding obscurely sited stress management course venue on map.

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