On my way

"Thank you my darlin'." says the burly woman serving Lattes and bacon butties in the train station cafe. There's been a leaf stuck to the top of my velcroed shoes since I stepped out into the rain. Like horses waiting for starter's orders; competitive suits standing shoulder to shoulder on the platform, edging towards the best position for THEIR seat in the carriage. Postman Pat's theme song bursts into life as I giggle and look at my phone, wondering if anyone else can hear. The train jerks into view, driven by a despondent bearded man in an ill fitting jacket. "Please mind the gap between the train and the platform" is said with such autonomy that you know she doesn't care. A tall tree in the distance turns out to be a church spire, then back to a tree, settling with a church spire. Suburbs turn to trees, fields, muddy piggies and back into suburbs. Stifling dry heat is replaced by a cool breeze as a window thunks open. Graffiti begins to litter the bridges and the race for the door gets underway.