Tuesday, July 29, 2008
8.29 On Time
The Quiet Zone is all very well except for the sitting and thinking, and there’s nothing much else to do, in the Quiet Zone, but sit and think.
I had an extra thought this morning, as I made my way down the platform: Pendolinos are sooooo long, the first and last carriages are practically in different counties.
Imagine if I were to get off at Coach A, wave my TrueLove a cheery goodbye, walk the length of the train then jump on again in First Class, just before the doors closed?
I could have a parallel existence; a real life second life. I wouldn't be sitting at my desk with my feet up, vacillating between boredom and mutiny, I’d be away doing all the important and fascinating things I’ve always thought of doing but somehow never had the time to, such as…..er….and….well…umm…. I wondered how long it would be before I got found out.
Then I had another thought, maybe it's the secrecy that appeals? Maybe I just need to keep secrets?
Like those people who leave the house with their briefcase every morning at eight even though they were made redundant six months ago.
The Quiet Zone is all very well except for the sitting and thinking, and there’s nothing much else to do, in the Quiet Zone, but sit and think.
I had an extra thought this morning, as I made my way down the platform: Pendolinos are sooooo long, the first and last carriages are practically in different counties.
Imagine if I were to get off at Coach A, wave my TrueLove a cheery goodbye, walk the length of the train then jump on again in First Class, just before the doors closed?
I could have a parallel existence; a real life second life. I wouldn't be sitting at my desk with my feet up, vacillating between boredom and mutiny, I’d be away doing all the important and fascinating things I’ve always thought of doing but somehow never had the time to, such as…..er….and….well…umm…. I wondered how long it would be before I got found out.
Then I had another thought, maybe it's the secrecy that appeals? Maybe I just need to keep secrets?
Like those people who leave the house with their briefcase every morning at eight even though they were made redundant six months ago.
Labels: train
