Passage @thecomprehensivepassenger - Tumblr Blog

So, what will change after the Covid-19 crisis passes? The importance of non-important spokespeople? Self-styled social commentators. So-called celebrities. Unfettered consumption of commodities in the developed world? Paying sportspeople millions while doctors and nurses struggle? Populism and nationalistic leaders? A disregard for the elderly? A serious, concerted effort to tackle man-made climate change? I predict things will feel different for a matter of months then we will all go back to doing exactly what we were doing before...

Covid-19

So it’s started. The bars and restaurants have been instructed to close their doors tonight. People have been instructed not to socialise. It feels like we’re in a disaster movie. Thank goodness I bought popcorn.

It might be my imagination but Waterloo concourse seems quieter than normal. Also, more subdued. More like a Sunday. Covid 19? Or perhaps, the trains at this end of the station mainly head to Hounslow and Addleston. Not the most tempting proposition on a Monday morning?

Holiday

I love London Bridge station. All that natural wood on the ceilings make me feel, for a fleeting moment, that I’ve arrived at a Scandinavian airport. I get a micro holiday buzz each time.

Good morning.

Caring

Jeez, the first week back after the Christmas break... It’s not so much a case of ‘getting back up to speed’ as giving a shit about the stuff that was seemingly so important back in December. Monday was a write-off, Tuesday was marginally better (although all the chocolates in the house were eaten as a coping mechanism) and by Wednesday my brain was more or less engaged with work. Then by Thursday I was in despair with Friday arriving as a blessed relief. Speaking with colleagues, it’s comforting to know that I’m not the only one going though this slow start. As they say, sharing is caring.

Blood on the ice rink

Turkey

As the relatively full train pulled up, I noticed the middle-aged man sitting oddly on the odd seats. The odd seats are the single ones in a row with the last one strangely facing the others. Anyway, there he was with his feet up on the facing seat, sleeping I think. Self-entitled and content. At least he’d taken his shoes off. Then, about 10 minutes into the journey I noticed the swearing. At first it was hard to tell it was him speaking as his face was partly obscured. I could only see his eyes. This was not your common or garden swearing but some proper, abusive telephone ranting. I think he was discussing Christmas shopping with someone, along the lines of, “just get it done you stupid twat” and “that little cunt of a child”. He was so loud and abusive it was almost comical. As I nodded off, I started to fantasise about kicking his legs off the seat and throwing him off the train. When I awoke at Waterloo station he’d disappeared. Good will to all men and I hope he chokes on his turkey.

The tree is coming tomorrow. A big bugger that will enjoy dropping its needles for the next four weeks. Giving as much seasonal joy as pain, as my bare feet are pricked at the same time as my eyes are dazzled by the pretty lights and baubles. Merry Christmas.

Dark

The homeward train rides in the dark came so quickly - aided and abetted by the clocks going back - that I don’t even remember a transition. Now as we barrel along between Barnes and Putney, it’s hard to remember what a sunset looks like. Let alone a blue sky. So, with the lack of things to look at out of the window my attention turns to the other passengers. And their dress code is dark.

Jensen’s Gin in Scarto, Bologna

Waterloos?

So, a little time after the ambiguous superloo announcement, this morning the Waterloo tannoy blared, “will Inspector Sands please report to the cab room”. The noise is overwhelming and distorted. Just to get to the bottom of the commotion, I’m minded to turn up at the cab room and say, “I’m Inspector Sands, what do you need?” I’m not however, prepared to do the same if they’re calling for the superloos. What loos, Waterloo?

Gritty

Travelling home from the dentist - £800 worse off and with a face that feels like I’ve had a stroke. I mean, I was shown the before and after effect of replacing four, old crappy fillings and the new ones look marvellous. But ffs. I could take a city break for what I paid. Albeit with my old crappy fillings, a trip to a city that mainly has soup restaurants. I guess dodgy fillings are the legacy of an early childhood in Northen Ireland where we had sugar with everything. A rule of thumb was your breakfast cereal was ready to eat when no more sugar could dissolve in the milk and it tasted gritty.

There it is.

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