Traveling by train

Yesterday I went into town by train; it was a new experience. Barring the occasional excursion with 150 teenage students, which is very noisy, I haven’t traveled into town by public transport since I worked in the city 20 odd years ago.

I’m not sure what I expected but it was very busy. On the way there was a strange man who got on the train with a white terry toweling dressing gown on a hanger. He was obviously a seasoned traveler as he stood with one hand pressed against the ceiling until his stop instead of hanging onto any of the vertical poles; yes, he was very tall. I wonder where he was going that he needed a dressing gown? And it was on one of those hangers that the dry cleaner gives you too, except it didn’t have the clear plastic wrap.

Then there were all the people using their phones: “Hi, it’s me. I’m on the train . . . ” was how each conversation began. Last time I traveled by train on a regular basis that wasn’t an issue. Last time I traveled by train I didn’t have an ipod to stick into my ears to block the sound of everyone’s phone conversations either - so it worked out all right.

I’m always amazed at the phone conversations people have in public. I’d be much too self-conscious to blithely ring a friend and chat away while everyone else on the train listened in, or tried not to listen in, or even ignored me and listened to their ipod.

Then there was the woman’s conversation on my carriage on the way home. She was happily chatting to a man she obviously saw frequently, and the train was almost empty getting to the end of the line as it was but still. . .

So now I know that she’s divorced, her husband had “problems,” she’s got two sons, and a boyfriend. She’s been seeing her boyfriend for three years now and he wants her to move in with her. She’s not sure; her boys think she should wait. She doesn’t have a car, but her ex-husband does.

Is there such a thing as invasion of air-space? Apparently not.

Better stop now before I start going on about the good ol’ days. . . .

Stella