a log ... a real mixture of emotions .... and a journey of accents, regions and every culture in a hub of a city ...
The foot crossing out the threshold into a cold March wind. A outing out my front door with a lady delivery driver buzzing a neighbour, with a box to heavy for her to carrying up the flight of flat stairs to the parcels destination ...
A journey busy with the moody faceless in expression faces. A friendly few. A man a rapport with. The rest like cattle trappling over the luggage. The battle of the me firsts ! ...
A man looking at too risqué a image for public viewing .... He needed to get a room.
The rugby scrum off the train with people flowing like a stream every which way. The underground like water pouring through a dam bursting the banks. The tube speeded like a missile set on a deadly target.
And as for the pendolino train, the speed like Concorde to make up for a delayed start on a fast train anyway with stops only at Stafford, Crewe and Runcorn, and the normal Liverpool Lime Street final destination by bus
Consequently we made up for time actually arriving at Crewe four minutes early ... The speed of lightning. One minute in London the next in Crewe ...
No comments:
Post a Comment