Early Morning Train-ing

It ain't as sporty as it sounds. Effectively, I was sitting down on a train for two and a half hours eating Quavers. However, it was 6:30am and I was aboard a south-bound train to the Big Smoke with a big old bag of literary goodness in tow. Clever chappy Oscar Wilde apparently once noted that 'one always needs something sensational to read on the train.'
Wildey was right.
The Quiet Coach of the National Express serves as a unique (bring-your-own-book) type of library, but with the added luxury of largely luscious views, along with the further bonus of cheeky tea-trolley appearances.

Smudged, sunshine

Spot the fringe

So, on my travels, I tucked into some Shakespeare (sounds pretentious, but I'm taking a module on Wills next year). With dusty tomb, Quavers and a cuppa in hand, it made for a proper nice journey.

Thing is though, I was heading to London. And the Big-L scares me. I think it's partly to do with those people who pretend to be statues and then jump out at you (I've not been the same since). But mostly, I just find the place too fast-paced and intense, to the extent that I feel like a slightly bewildered pigeon.

Waiting game at Kings Cross

Kings Cross doesn't remind me of Harry Potter or nuffink. It's just a bit sweat-inducing and high-pressured. The last minute announcements and sudden platform changes provoke crowds of commuters to stampede across the station like herds of disgruntled, briefcase-wielding wildebeests. What they need is, is to employ the services of several sheep-dogs to be part of the crowd control. 

Oh well, at least I enjoyed looking at the new ceiling. Looks like a metallic apple and custard lattice. Or something.