This is my first ever blog post and for someone who's often got a lot to say I'm feeling a bit shy. So a deep breath and here goes. This is about an entirely unremarkable journey to work.
It's Thursday morning and I'm taking my place amongst the professionals on the train. I already feel like I’ve done a days’ work and it’s not yet 8am. I miss those uncomplicated mornings when the only person I had to chivvy along was myself. Those days, long gone, feel like part of someone else’s life now.
I'm protected from the world by my ever present earphones. Today's journey to work is soundtracked by the Cocteau Twins but it changes every day.
I notice the others in my carriage, immersed in their copies of the Metro, gazing out of windows or eyes fixed on the ever present mobile. Bluefaces I think the term is in the music industry, for talent spotters and A&R people who spend more time looking at screens than stages so their faces glow blue in the dark. Another life I once lived, another relic of the past.
I notice that most are more smartly dressed than I am, "they must have office jobs" I think. I play a little game of 'guess the occupation' and I'm amused by how easily I slip into stereotypes. The neat little man with glasses, he's got to be an accountant surely? Or in IT maybe. I think how broad a church IT must be to open its arms to such a diverse congregation; none of the jobs are the same but they’re all fall under the same description.
The young man opposite in paint-splattered jeans rolls a cigarette. ‘Roll me, lick me, suck me’ jumps into my head, another phrase from a bygone age. I wonder I sound like a later version of those 60s refugees who still call everyone ‘man.’ Then I think people in Newcastle still say “man” and my mind takes me back to the three years I lived there.
A phone rings and my attention goes back to the roll up man. Maybe he's a decorator but surely he'd travel in a van? Perhaps the artistic type of painter then. Or, as I notice the elaborate spray painted tags on the side of the buildings, one of the creators of those. I think the expensively dressed man opposite me might have a cold or a serious coke habit, as the train's rhythm is punctuated by little sniffs. The woman in blue would look great behind a reception desk I think, as she manages the art of looking sophisticated yet friendly.
Nobody looks very happy to be going to work. Resigned at best I think. A young woman has one of those 'record of achievements' folders that they use in schools these days. On her way to an interview I suppose. Someone should tell her she has a dark smudge on her left cheek, newsprint I imagine.
Someone is talking on their mobile, unaware we’re about to enter a tunnel. Yes, they've been cut off. I have to turn the volume up for this bit as the mechanical sounds of the train are amplified by the tunnel walls.
The fields give way to buildings in this part of the journey and we pass rows of houses. I always find myself wondering who lives there and wondering "what kind of life do they have?" Sometimes I catch a glimpse of that life behind closed doors. A man, seemingly frozen in time, putting a jumper over his head. Someone with a folder raised, shielding their hair from the rain. I wonder how many kids get berated for their speed of cornflake consumption, how many women are hastily covering bruises with make up and whether that man over there might be hiding a bottle of spirits in his briefcase.
The train slows as we approach the station and people start to move in their seats, collecting bags, adjusting clothing. A queue of people forms at the door, unsure of which side of the train the platform will appear. Nobody speaks. The doors open and we are ushered onto the busy platform, a queue of impatient people waiting to take our place. The working day has begun.
It's Thursday morning and I'm taking my place amongst the professionals on the train. I already feel like I’ve done a days’ work and it’s not yet 8am. I miss those uncomplicated mornings when the only person I had to chivvy along was myself. Those days, long gone, feel like part of someone else’s life now.
I'm protected from the world by my ever present earphones. Today's journey to work is soundtracked by the Cocteau Twins but it changes every day.
I notice the others in my carriage, immersed in their copies of the Metro, gazing out of windows or eyes fixed on the ever present mobile. Bluefaces I think the term is in the music industry, for talent spotters and A&R people who spend more time looking at screens than stages so their faces glow blue in the dark. Another life I once lived, another relic of the past.
I notice that most are more smartly dressed than I am, "they must have office jobs" I think. I play a little game of 'guess the occupation' and I'm amused by how easily I slip into stereotypes. The neat little man with glasses, he's got to be an accountant surely? Or in IT maybe. I think how broad a church IT must be to open its arms to such a diverse congregation; none of the jobs are the same but they’re all fall under the same description.
The young man opposite in paint-splattered jeans rolls a cigarette. ‘Roll me, lick me, suck me’ jumps into my head, another phrase from a bygone age. I wonder I sound like a later version of those 60s refugees who still call everyone ‘man.’ Then I think people in Newcastle still say “man” and my mind takes me back to the three years I lived there.
A phone rings and my attention goes back to the roll up man. Maybe he's a decorator but surely he'd travel in a van? Perhaps the artistic type of painter then. Or, as I notice the elaborate spray painted tags on the side of the buildings, one of the creators of those. I think the expensively dressed man opposite me might have a cold or a serious coke habit, as the train's rhythm is punctuated by little sniffs. The woman in blue would look great behind a reception desk I think, as she manages the art of looking sophisticated yet friendly.
Nobody looks very happy to be going to work. Resigned at best I think. A young woman has one of those 'record of achievements' folders that they use in schools these days. On her way to an interview I suppose. Someone should tell her she has a dark smudge on her left cheek, newsprint I imagine.
Someone is talking on their mobile, unaware we’re about to enter a tunnel. Yes, they've been cut off. I have to turn the volume up for this bit as the mechanical sounds of the train are amplified by the tunnel walls.
The fields give way to buildings in this part of the journey and we pass rows of houses. I always find myself wondering who lives there and wondering "what kind of life do they have?" Sometimes I catch a glimpse of that life behind closed doors. A man, seemingly frozen in time, putting a jumper over his head. Someone with a folder raised, shielding their hair from the rain. I wonder how many kids get berated for their speed of cornflake consumption, how many women are hastily covering bruises with make up and whether that man over there might be hiding a bottle of spirits in his briefcase.
The train slows as we approach the station and people start to move in their seats, collecting bags, adjusting clothing. A queue of people forms at the door, unsure of which side of the train the platform will appear. Nobody speaks. The doors open and we are ushered onto the busy platform, a queue of impatient people waiting to take our place. The working day has begun.
Great piece Ali.
ReplyDeleteReminds me of when I used to do the Leeds to Bradford Interchange commute every morning, about two years ago.
Never realised that your eyes might have been watching me too!