Strawberry things never smell like strawberry. The faux strawberry of lip balm and children's sweets. Not too sure of where the smell is coming from, unless the gentleman behind me has a penchant for smooth, strawberry flavoured lips.
On the whole, train journeys excite me. Watching the scenery change, spying on my fellow passengers. The journey to and from Norwich has to be one of the worst. Whilst the landscape is moderately interesting at this point, soon it will become nothing but flat, endless fields, stretching out far beyond the horizon. Of course there's the occasional pylon, bush, tree, or even the odd building. This journey is far too long to endure scenery of that standard.
I can only hope that more people will need to visit Norwich today. So far this journey, few people seem inclined. Whilst most people would thing me fortunate to be on a train with four seats and a table to myself, I take little pleasure in the extra luggage and leg room. Partucularly as no one is sat in the seats adjacent to this, and now no longer behind me, although the faux strawberry smell lingers.
I should write about the clouds, they are quite interesting for the sky itself appears as if it has been painted blue. The edges of the perfectly white clouds are whipped into such shapes that some appear like painted waves. The kind they would use on stage during Peter Pan or some whimsical musical about life on the sea. Then below, quite low down, there are but the beginnings of clouds. Almost as if a steam train is a little way in front of us.
The faux strawberry smell is beginning to drive me insane. To the point I keep surreptitiously sniffing items of my own in case it is me. It's a little confusing as to why I'm doing this in such a manner, with only one other person being on the carriage. He has his back to me, all I can see of him is a patch of scalp surrounded by thin mousy hair.
Is it just me or are there others out there who think trains would be much more interesting if they left the graffiti on? I don't mean the rushed tags. I mean the artwork, a few carriages with that on would make trainspotting a little interesting. Particularly those ones thirty plus years old which still trawl back and forth between lesser known destinations. The type with incredibly uncomfortable seating and windows next to them which actually open.
Peterborough, and I now share a carriage with five others. Death sits opposite me. No, not opposite me, adjacent to me. Opposite just sounds better than Death sits adjacent to me.
It must have been love. The kind you see in films, or had the good fortune to have felt. There is no other reason you'd make this journey as often as my brother did.
The balding guy, who turns out can't be more than twenty-five, appears to be departing. Or taking all his luggage to the toilet with him. We have a while until the next station.
Out of the newbies who have boarded at Peterborough, we now have the token talks-too-loud-on-their-mobile. Repeating, 'Hello... hello?' at regular intervals, reassuring the person on the other end of the line that she is indeed on the train.
The adjacent seat, occupied by Death. Sadly, this isn't Death, despite his claims during his phone call. Instead, he is a boy, slightly past pubescence, still with the inability to grown decent facial hair, even if he had wanted. The final signs of teenage acne dot his face. Engrossed in today's copy of the Sun newspaper, he bears little resemblance to Death.
The others are but imprints. I know they are here merely because I took the time to look for people taking their seats on this carriage.
Ely and Sun-Reading-Boy-Man has gone. I may stop off here myself tomorrow. Explore the cathedral. The pale-bricked station, there are bins. Albeit a see-through affair, a clear poly bag hung from a hoop. Still, a rarity indeed. There are two people working on laptops as they wait on the platform. A gift shop called English Rose Gifts promises all their items are made in the UK.
A train station with a gift shop. Not a Smith's, nor a chain cafe, but a little gift shop with locally made gifts.
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