When the trains run late

I used this title before, but I had to use it again. So this morning, the train ran late again. Well, by this I mean that for the first five minutes of the journey, there was no train coming: a shuttle bus was waiting for the commuters to carry us from A to B. Of course, a bus going through the narrow streets of a small town is slow, so it took quite a while to get to B, the second train station on my journey. And then the train was late. A fellow commuter asked me when was the next train coming, I answered "I don't know, thirty minutes ago". She laughed. I think it deserves to be counted as a great unknown line.

Unlike the last time in May when the trains ran late, this time I enjoyed it a lot. I love the atmosphere of train stations (really, I do) and I rarely get blasé of them. It was a beautiful autumn day, warm enough but with enough fresh air to make it comfortable. I was neither too hot nor too cold. I sat on the bench and read a ghost story by M.R. James (this one, read it if you haven't already). I arrived at work thirty minutes late, relaxed, energised and having enjoyed the autumn air (and a pleasant chill, thanks to the Cambridge scholar). I wished the train had been later.