Back in business - a retrospective Part 3 'Thoughts from the Paddington to Swansea train'

Dear Reader,

Here's another little instalment from my dark purple notebook:

"Oh I've missed the Welsh accent! I'm sure I couldn't tolerate it on a daily basis for long, but nonetheless, there is an innocuousness about it that warmed my heart as I asked the train ticket inspector which one of the three bits of train journey confirmation he actually needed to see. And he proceeded to hold a short conversation with a passenger who was also Welsh. There's just something completely unpretentious about it, totally approachable and utterly endearing.

Which is rather helpful as this train to Swansea that will get me to Bristol is not only packed with people around almost comically reduced-size tables and spaces between seats, but even featured a Harry Potter-like, "missing carriage".  I walked up and down the platform, looking for coach 'D' only to find that the more I looked between coaches 'E' and 'C', the more coach 'D' wasn't there. Another British rail-related impromptu intelligence test. Which I failed. The correct response is to get onto coach 'C' and imagine it as 'D' in your mind, and lo and behold, the ticket details above the seats reflect this newfound mental re-wiring. They should hand out leaflets entitled, "The tricks we like to play on people with our sheer incompetence - also known as 'the joy of travel in the UK'" to any unsuspecting passengers, particularly foreigners, or honorary foreigners like me, just to give people a fighting chance of coping with what is a shockingly provincial and almost useless train service. (But that would be far too helpful.)

I have to admit, with all due trepidation at using the following introductory phrase, but, "I remember a time when..." there were actual table-sized tables on these trains. And when it felt rather grand to travel on the train, compared to the coach. But it seems that the trains have gone in for dramatic cost-cutting and super-sardine-like packing of the carriages themselves. So much so, that when sitting in an aisle seat, where a full sized case will barely make it past me as though it was measured down to the millimetre to make sure it would officially fit, but only with the straightest-lined dragging of an expert, I am almost forced to hold my breath and certainly not cross my legs, in order to fit in. And if that weren't enough, the guy sitting opposite me is so overweight that he's just lucky that the 'table' on the aisle side actually tapers towards the aisle, which allows him extra room for his rotund belly. Or is he in fact averagely sized, it's just the miniature proportions of the train now making him look overweight? I can't tell."

---------------

I made it to Bristol ok and even had the help of a kind, or crazy, passenger to carry my case up the stairs (I didn't stand much of a chance of doing that myself, because there were rather a lot of steps and a lot of people hurriedly trying to get up them and I just kept getting in the way, and getting knocked from side to side with them - hence the passenger-pity) but then had to laugh that having done that, the way out involves going down the same number of stairs to get to the main entrance/exit. Thankfully at this point there was actually a lift.

Bristol was its usual, grim, boring and more run-down and dingy than I remembered it, self (but I imagine that's partly down to the recession) and I am SO glad I no longer live there. Even if I've only swapped it for a similarly 'run-down-in-places' city, where the central area architecture certainly compensates for the rest but the mentality of the native residents is just about as provincial, unenlightened and full of despair as in Bristol. Just with fewer Polish bus drivers. Just imagine if Bristol were full of Czech bus drivers. My head would be so very confused...

That's all for now dear reader. Tummy ache of the nastiest kind has struck again and I think I'm going to need to lie down with a hot water bottle...

Good night.

Ms. Platform Edge.X

Tummy issues

Dear Reader,

I've got some kind of tummy issue which means I've been unable to eat properly yesterday and today. I did try eating some soup last night but it brought on a bit more pain when I ate the one that the Cowboy made because it actually had vegetables in it, whereas the 'cuppa soup' one was fairly harmless. And this morning I tried eating some porridge but then had a sharp pain in my tummy while sitting on the metro, which I had to disguise all the way to I.P.Pavlova. Thankfully, Paul's bakery do do peppermint tea so I was able to start sipping that before I started my meeting.

The Cowboy got angry with me last night that this kind of tummy ache isn't normal and I should do something about it. But sadly, I think he's wrong. This is what happens from time to time when you've got IBS. It's irritating for sure, but there's not a lot you can do about it except go on a fast and drink peppermint tea. And have naps with a hot water bottle and a good book. Maybe this is my body's way of giving me an excuse to stop pushing myself so hard. Maybe it just wants some cuddly time of watching House episodes and reading in bed, as I'd've loved to have had all on my own over Christmas and New Year, but couldn't because I was in a studio flat with nowhere to go while the Cowboy watched TV. I suppose the up side is I'll finally lose some weight after the gluttonous festive period... 

Maybe I'll even look more ballerina-like for the ballet photoshoot that a Mexican photographer wants me to do this weekend. (She cancelled last weekend due to having lost or had stolen her wallet.) I only have to sit in pointe shoes wearing a tight-fitting dress, so it's not like I have to be able to hold a difficult pose, which would certainly be impossible in my current state. It's funny how you've no idea how much you use your tummy muscles until you can't. Then you realise that even standing on the tube carrying a heavy bag requires tummy strength. Damn.

Still, at least I can take it easy a bit. Not too many meet-ees today and none yesterday in the end, so apart from a whole pile of admin to do, I can feasibly take it a bit easier today than I otherwise would. I had an article to write yesterday and a client survey response to draw up (which took hours) so I did have to get that done, but I can have a break today until the afternoon when I have to go back to Pankrác again. And tomorrow is a bit full-on really, unfortunately, so I'd better clear out my system today and stick to just peppermint tea again and hope that by tomorrow I might be back to normal. (Tummy-wise.)

I'm feeling quite tired now actually, so maybe I should call it a day now. I hope, dear reader, that your start to the new year has been pain-free and that the glooms of January haven't descended on you too heavily.

Love,

Your friend from the Edge of the Platform.X

Losing my resilience

That's twice in a row now.  Waking up in the wee small hours with tummy ache.  I'm floundering again under the strain of this unrelenting timetable which keeps changing on me weekly, keeps demanding I think entirely of others' needs when none of my own get a look-in.  I'm desperately trying to cling to anything creative that I can, but I feel like someone keeps ripping it out of my hands, just as I feel I've got a comfortable grip.

I fear I don't have the resilience this time.  I need to be able to at least sing my way out of it, but the blocked ears and headaches are returning and I'm battling that on top of sleep deprivation.  I'm almost on my knees now.  What is this?  Am I meant to surrender?  If so, who the hell to?  And what then?