The trouble with normal

The journey down was OK - there was a baby a few seats away who chuckled and chortled almost all the way, with only a few little grizzles. What a delightful sound is happy-baby. It was only when I got up to leave the train at Newcastle that I discovered it was a baby whom I actually know by name - wee Louis, off with his mum Becks to see her folks down south. What a sweetie.

Work was...work. Lucky for blip that there was some fresh graffiti in the alley behind the Sage.

The journey home was not OK - my train delayed by almost an hour, so I was told I could get on the one after it which was coming in before it (as it were), but then got told the opposite by the train guard. Fortunately he didn't try pushing his luck. A few seats away there was a baby who cried all the way to Edinburgh, when it wasn't sneezing or coughing terribly. There may have been two of them working as a team. Poor wee souls.

On the journey home the line

"The trouble with normal (is), it only gets worse"

kept running through my head - who wrote that? Ah, yes, Bruce Cockburn.