‘The Equity Train is leaving!’ bellowed a City pillock wearing a pair of earphones the size of sunflower heads, on my train last evening as it approached Esher Station, to what appeared to be a potential investor he was trying to earn a commission from.
We are having a bit of a run on shouty City pillocks at the station – the night before last, as got off train in monsoon conditions, another Financial Wizard was bellowing like a typhoon off the coast of Java on his phone to a hapless client as a monsoon-like deluge pelted down at Esher station and harried commuters hurriedly took shelter and summoned their wives to pick them up.
I have zero interest in the equity train, or indeed, any other financial matters, which is why possibly am always in a stew. However, I am very interested in the small goings on of the tiny spiders who spin webs amongst the railings at Esher station.
Each set of railings has its spider, mostly very small, about the size of the * on my keyboard, who spins their webs in a spirit of optimism like Ernest Shackleton’s.
The Station building sits at the top of a steep incline, like a mini-Acropolis, and the railings hang over a high drop, with the station car park entrance and Esher common and golf course beyond. For the little spiders, it must be like pitching a bivouac on the side of Mount Everest, but they are persistent. They are entirely exposed, but they manfully – spiderfully –keep on web building. Wind and rain may sweep them away and leave their home in tatters, but there is always a return, and a new web being spun.
Of the night of the torrential rain recently, when I didn’t dare leave the shelter of the station for twenty minutes, I saw that one tiny little thing was sat stubbornly on his rain-encrusted web, where the rain drops were bigger than he was.
As I Ieft the station last evening, checking on the little spiders, the sound of City Pillock died away in the distance, and the sound of the blackbirds began. Like every railing having its spider, it seemed, so bright was the music of the blackbirds, that every tree must have its bird. I know, of course, that since blackbird numbers have fallen dramatically, this is not the case. But as I walked down Station Road, and down Lower Green Road, Wood End and Douglas Road, the sound of caroling blackbirds accompanied me. Some of those blackbirds were mighty noisy. But none of them were in any way irritating like the City Pillock. Maybe they were telling each other that the Worm Train was leaving. Or they may have been telling me it was time to pack in the commuting and spend more time where the birds are singing and the City pillocks are quiet.