Trains

Of all the things I heartily dislike about myself (and there are many) by propensity to buy rail tickets for insane times just because they are cheap is one of the things I dislike the most. Actually I blame GNER for ridiculous pricing but they’ve had enough abusive letters off me over the years and all they ever say in return is “two singles may be cheaper than a return ticket”, which is pretty much telling me to sell one kidney instead of two to be able to afford to get past Milton Keynes. Anyway; at 7am last Saturday morning I was on a train bound to Edinburgh, going out the night before wasn’t a good plan and it meant I was in absolutely no mood at all for the collection of morons and biffers I found myself forced to sit with. People who think they are funny and talk loudly, people who bought their dog on and expected other people to enjoy that (the dog was called Mitzy and apparently didn’t need a lead as the stupid owner could just bellow at it – all the time), over-priced food and drink and a toilet that smelt like it had been used by a terribly unwell egg. And the best thing about it was that in just over 24 hours time I’d be back on it heading home.

Yes, I had a weekend away. I went to Edinburgh. It was extraordinarily pleasant. It was a sort of reunion. There were 8 of us who were terribly good friends at university (we had other friends as well) and so decided to meet up. We scattered slightly after university: Australia, Japan, Dafur, Malawi, Finland, Nottingham. So this was the first chance we’d had to all meet up again, so the 8 of us returned to Edinburgh. Well 9 of us really as I’ve pretty much doubled in size. But it was lovely. We abandoned all attempts to catch up on each others lives (I realised on the train back that I’d never actually asked about a mate’s kids – which is not very friendly but kind of a relief as I’m not actually very interested) and instead drank a lot and pretended we were 21 again. Which we blatantly are not. At university we drank a lot and we didn’t really care where we did it, this became clear when we were talking about a club we used to go to and I recalled it as a sort of garden shed/air raid shelter, turns out it actually had 3 floors but I had never been there sober. This time around we rejected any pub which didn’t have enough seating for all of us.

Some things never change though. I instantly disliked being the tallest girl. Although not exactly tall I am 5’7 in flats which is fine but in heels I look borderline transsexual. This would be fine if it weren’t for the fact that the other 3 girls I met up with are all 5’2 and under. Meaning I look like some sort of giant freak especially in photos where I look like I am eyeing up lunch. Or like some kind of supervisory lollipop lady. Would have helped if I wasn’t wearing a fluro jacket and carrying a giant stick.


But it was lovely. It was nice meeting up with people who have known you for ages and knew you when the height of your ambition was getting the money that had fallen down the back of the sofa so that you could afford to eat that night or who knew you when you slept through a fire alarm and had to be woken up by the terrifying night porter (called Tam, had 3 teeth and an impenetrable highlands accent – not the kind of man you dream of slipping in to your room at night). It was also nice to reminisce about those we left behind. Jacquiline who ate only cheese and used to grate it by rubbing it sideways against the grater (“you might get there a bit quicker if you pushed it up and down there Jacquiline”). Dave – the boy that never washed, you knew when he was coming your way as you could smell him. Ah the joys of communal living. Nice at the time but not something I am anxious to return to. Which is how I felt at returning to the train. The journey back was better, no dogs, no comedians, just an old woman who fed me polos. I still hated it though. I felt obliged to.