Trains

Last Thursday I was depressed. Utterly so.

Mum and Dad were going away camping and persuaded me to go with them. I did. I travelled with Dad and I cheered up a bit, only to find it was raining when we got there. Let it be known that I hate camping when it is dry, let alone when it is wet. OK, so 'hate' is a bit of a strong word, but I find it very annoying. To top it all off the toilets were ages away.

I was cross. Plans were made. The next day I caught a train to go and see my brother who lives not too far away from where we were. The train station where I was to catch the train had no ticket booth and I only had a fiver on me. I asked Mum for some extra cash, but after Dad asked a workman if the conductor accepted cards it was decided that I needed none. How wrong that was.

The train arrived, only slightly late, which is good for England. I made myself as invisible as possible and waited for the conductor. And presently he came. Slowly. Very slowly, so I read calmly as he made his way down the carriage (there were only two carriages on the train) a book called "Man's Search for Meaning". As 9 million copies have been sold it is quite possible that you have read it. If you haven't, do. I have finished the first and largest part called "Experiences in a Concentration Camp". It is incredible and the author quotes Nietzsche, a quote I hadn't read before.

"He who has a why to live can bear almost any how."

"Why to live?" is the next question you ask of yourself when you read that. Now, having been very depressed the day before you will be aware that this quote was important to me, and it was essential I discovered a "Why?" to my existence. Here you are expecting some immensely fascinating story of me realising my why. I didn't realise my why, and I still don't know it. Perhaps my why is to search for that most important why, which has, as yet, eluded me. Perhaps my why is to care for the poor and the oppressed, or perhaps it is to become a billionaire. I do not know my why, and read on, surprisingly unperturbed.

The conductor almost walked past me. I disturbed his walk with a nervous,

"Single to Manchester please."

"Five pounds sixty please."

Relief on my side that I knew he accepted cards. I ask anyway,

"Do you accept cards?"

"Yes."

I hand my card over, he inserts it.

"It doesn't accept that card, it is an electron."

Not the best news in the world to hear.

"Oh. I only have a fiver."

" Wait here." (Like I was going to jump off the train.)

I waited. He returned with a £4.60 ticket from a closer station. As you can imagine I was quite relieved.

It's not the wires that are dangerous, it's the lack of ticket booths.

I spent the day with my brother, and decided to return home in the evening.

I caught a train. I paid at the station, cash.

Everyone else caught that train too. Whether they paid in cash I neither know nor care about. What I care about was the fact that there were so many of them. We waited as the train arrived and for the arrivals to get off.

Then we stormed on. Too soon though, for we had to squeeze to the side to let some more people off. I waited next to a man who was sitting at a table with four seats around it. Whilst I stood there everyone pushed past me, and stole the seats I had had my eye on. I apologised to the guy who had coped with my bag in his face and sat opposite him.

Then two girls joined us. It became much less quiet. There were two guys on the opposite table who were quite deaf and so couldn't speak properly. I tell you this so that you can understand the poem I wrote. It isn't an exciting one. It doesn't rhyme, but it is how I felt.

A Train

A train,
packed,
all seats full,

the men who can't talk properly
ask an unknown question,
and the pretty girls laugh,
about their night out.

A train,
edging out of Manchester,
and one of those men wave,
"Bye there,"
Legible despite their deafness.

the girls talk incessantly,
the announcer announces
and I have to cope,
for two hours.


I also wrote about the world revolving around money, but we have already had too much for one day.