A couple of points this week at which I have done a mental tally of the train-hours till I hand in my Season Ticket
Running to the station from work at night.
Feeling the unsecured broken seat wobble under me, threatening to scoot out form under, leaving me in a pile on the suit next to mes knees and digging my nails into the window ledge just in time.
I am sitting on the late-running 19.14. At the first stop, a woman gets on, sits down opposite me, and pulls out the worlds largest apple, and starts attacking it like a particularly bucktoothed squirrel. At the next stop, a corpulent chap sits next to her and cracks open a beer, spreading a fine spray of cooking lager over the assembled crowd. A well dressed woman sits next to me, and I am glad
Until she flops open the flap of her bag, starts peeling waffer-thin slices of ham out of a packet, and slowly poking them into her mouth
The train smells of ham, cheap beer, and the noise of teeth ticking through horrid taut appleskin and crunching through horrid crunchy appleflesh. The train is so late I get off and get on the next.
Watching the rain lash against the window, and realising Ive left my lunch on the arm of a sofa 35 miles in the opposite direction to that in which I am currently miserably rushing. And my purse.
On another train. After an undoubtedly tiring day out, two children are annoying their father.
And the rest of the carriage.
He is a nice man, it seems, if slightly weary himself, and so we all breathe out as he catches the attention of his brawling two and motions them to listen, as he has found something for them to do.
Here he says Take my phone. You can play with the ringtones.
So thats 2hrs20 on a good day, give or take half an hour for delays and slow trains, times the amount of days left before I leave my job, which leaves us with