stillness, silence and dignity

There can be little nice than sitting in a nice sunny-yet-shady warm-but-not-smelly train station drinking coffee, eating a Cornish pasty, taking pictures of people and reading a book apart from sitting in a nice sunny-yet-shady warm-but-not-smelly train station drinking coffee, eating a Cornish pasty, taking pictures of people and reading a book when the peacefulness isn't disturbed by the high-pitched nasal yapping of a horse-voiced but evidently ill-bred yahgirl who came out with the classic "yeah hi mum yeah I've had a cunting awful day" whilst sat two feet from my two feet after she and a randomotherbloke had had a five-minute whine to the station staff in the wee office behind me about how they missed their platform change because it wasn't announced ("it was announced as it was me who announced it") and were now stuck with a time-specific ticket whine whine whine when the inevitable course of action was just to SHUT UP so that future announcements could be heard, look at the departures board occasionally and get on the next train to their destination. Preferably in a different carriage than I.

Very little done apart from sit on a train. The mess didn't take too long to clean (I bagsied the washing-up) and the shpider with whom I shared a room didn't release her eggs up my nose overnight. We sat about for a bit playing a board game until it was time to walk back through the slightly-less-searingly-hot non-tourist-filled bicycle-friendly portions of Cambridge (chancing upon a classic missed opportunity en route) to the station, the pasty, the coffee, the book, the yah, the train, the Intermediate station and the first part of the journey as far as Newcastle during which I mostly read but partly spent considering how I might get a photograph of the woman sitting opposite in fantastic light without her noticing. She left the train at Newcastle anyway and was replaced by a small team of pissed-up oafish idiots one of whom was suffering from Small Bloke Syndrome and shouting accordingly. They seemed confused by the absence of Coach C; we'd been told at Peterborough that it had been replaced by Coach K. This caused much hiliarity amongst the oaves who whooped, shouted and opened some drinks and generally prompted about five people to immediately get up and move carriages rather than attempt the usual glare-at-them-from-behind-sunglasses method of attempting to get them to either shut up or dissolve. I spent the rest of the journey in the quiet and pleasant Coach F, mostly reading but stopping to photograph the morons when they were ejected at Berwick. Full marks to GNER for actually bothering to do something although bonus style points would have been awarded had they been dumped somewhere where they were far less likely to get a later train. Alnmouth would have been good.

Nicky was on the computer when I got home so I didn't even have to attempt to crop, edit or post anything and could just have a bath and go to sleep.