The bed was so comfortable when my alarm went, and Joel so safe and warm, that I was loathe to get out. What madness compels this? For a moment, I sank back and thought how easy it would be to cancel my tickets, change my plans, stay put and have a nice childfree week at home with Joel.
Not doing the thing is always easier than doing the thing.
Joel made me coffee and I had a quick shower, packed last minute items. Charger, toothbrush, book. Another book. Then a third. It’s ok, two of them are small. (I ended up buying another two books on the trip, and one of them was by Robert Musil so you know it ain’t small. What can I say? I travel with books.).
The train rushed me towards London on the familiar commuter line. It was an overcast morning and the light was flat, air cool after a scorching week.
I miss Joel already, I thought.
I’m reading Transit by Rachel Cusk which, thematically at least, felt appropriate for a journey. I’m on the fence with Rachel Cusk. On the one hand: closely observed and well-written. On the other: laboured, pretentious and over-engineered. Like a Michelin meal touched by too many fingers.1
“The next station is London Marylebone. All change please.”
In Marylebone, a billboard of a leaping killer whale.
Orcas are apex predators with a diverse diet.
That’s cool, I thought: informative.
Then:
Looking for apex connectivity?
It was an ad for a mobile phone package.
By a strange quirk of the underground lines, it was quicker to walk several blocks to Baker Street than muddle through connections from Marylebone.
On the pavement outside the station, it’s so hot that London smells like Bangkok: an air of lightly cooked sewage on the streets.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Life Litter to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.