A Stranger on the Train.....

The other day I was returning home from work on the train, it had been a particularly fraught and long day and therefore, my frame of mind was similarly clouded. There were a number of other passengers already in the carriage when I entered, sitting in the rather shabby green striped seats, some chatting with their fellow travelling companions, others reading books or newspapers, most just gazing out of the windows, minding their own business. I selected a free seat, without much aforethought and as the train pulled away, I looked forward to the conclusion of the journey when I’d arrive at the small apartment I call home. Although if the truth be known, I was more looking forward to a large glass of red that would be the first thing I’d attend to upon entering.

I like some of my fellow commuters without companions or other diversions of the various forms of written words, gazing out of the window and the scenery rushing past at an unknown speed. However, my absentminded mental meanderings were drawn back from the world outside the carriage to two young gentlemen sitting facing each other across the aisle from my position.  There were tossing banter between themselves, whilst they weren’t unduly loud, due to the close proximity of the seating in the carriage, I couldn’t help but overhear their exchanges.  They were jolly as their word play went back and forth like a ball between rackets in a game of tennis, and whilst perhaps they were not always the most verbally dextrous utterances, all seemed to contain an element of humour and jollity. It amused me and whilst I tried not to listen, I couldn’t help myself, occasionally smiling along with a particularly funny remark or verbal volley.  Of course, my interest was also held by the fact that these two gentlemen, of mid-twenties estimated age, were rather easy on the eye; furthermore,  one was captivatingly pretty and yes, I do mean pretty. His face, pure and unblemished, his dark hair cut short in a modern, yet timeless style, his eyes shining brightly and reasonably well-sized red lips rendered his face an almost jaw-dropping angelic beauty. Repeatedly during the slightly camp oral bat and ball game, he referred to himself by name, Michael Wilson, a name that entered my conscious mind and has since never left, a name that has sounded itself during dreams and more wakeful moments. My mood was lifted beyond any expectation or probability, and thus as the train arrived at my station, I really should have offered him, them a heartfelt thank you.

I saw his face, I know his name, he’ll never know mine, and yes, he was only a stranger on a train, our lives overlapped for less than thirty minutes, yet I know I’ll remember him and that moment forever. So wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, Michael Wilson, I thank you sincerely.

© 2014 Copyright



Maybe it's time to take another journey.......have you ever met a stranger on a train and formed a friendship or a relationship?  Have you ever encountered a face in the crowd that has stayed with you for many months, years or decades? 

The cathartic effects of getting dirty!

Never underestimate the cathartic experience of getting dirty! There I was the other morning, hadn’t slept particularly well, kept thinking all manner of things relating to Matt and that whole situation, which prevented slumbers' sweet escape from washing over me. It’s funny how strange, sometimes silly things bring back memories of happier times, for example, even now, in my head, I still play the ’Punch Herbie/Slug Bug’ game each time I see a VW Beetle! I giggle to myself and sometimes aloud. 

A friend asked me what the hardest part has been about the whole ‘USA Drama Thing’ as he called it, and after thinking for a good long while, I have to say that it probably is the lack of communication. OK, so the lack of relationship is a pretty big gap in life, but the lack of communication from him, before, during and after has been the most hurtful and most difficult to cope with. It raises far more questions than answers, and prevents any further dialogue between us. It also leaves me unable to scratch that itch of wondering how he is. It may sound a little odd given the circumstances, but I still do care for him. He may have fallen out of love with me and dumped me, but I didn’t fall out of love with him, and love is not something I can just turn off like a tap, or faucet if you're American. Which means I am constantly wondering about where he is, what he’s doing, and more importantly, if he’s OK. I could listen to the gossip from his friends, and believe that he’s going downhill, and downhill fast, that he is drinking and smoking and doing drugs, that he’s starting to be really dirty and having sex in public restrooms again. 

These things and more well up in my mind, and it’s all to do with the lack of contact, the cessation of all communications. I can’t recall any other relationship where contact was withdrawn like this; perhaps that’s because up until now, I’ve always been the one to bring things to their conclusions, to their natural or unnatural end. Well, with the exception of Ed, with whom I’d lived for a number of years, and who ended our cohabitation and life together with the rather clinical “We have come to the end of the road of our relationship” It may have been clinical, perhaps a little cold, but it was accurate, succinct, to the point. But that didn’t stop us from being in contact with each other, indeed, a few times after reaching that particular cul-de-sac on life’s highway, we’d meet up and well......get passionate. In fact, don’t tell anyone, but I have to say that during one of those meetings we had some of the most rewarding and passionate sexual experiences of my life, for which I will always thank Ed the ex for, albeit silently and only on the pages of this here blog - it’s OK, he doesn’t read it! 

 All my other past relationships have come to an end on my terms at a time of my choosing and doing, but one thing I have done, and that is remained on at least speaking terms with all of them that wanted it. Just to end all forms of communication would be extremely cruel, calloused and hateful, not something I think I have the ability or desire to be. It was with these thoughts raging in my head and long with other more practicalities, such as taking the photos off the wall, packing away the silly cuddly plushy toys and other keepsakes and memorabilia that laid me low the other morning. I needed to clear my head, cleanse my body and something that would not take either money or too much brain power. I decided the bike would be the way to go. I needed a ride, I’ve started to pile on a few pounds since coming back from America again, something to do with the eating of American chocolate, which is, was and always will be my favourite. 

 The day previous had been wet and rainy, but the other morning was dry and clear, the blue skies masking the true temperature of the outside world. I started well, down the road towards Shoreham, no route or plan in my mind, just a little ride, not far, not long, just to get some fresh air and blow the cobwebs out. I’m not sure if I was on auto pilot, or the sounds of Death Cab For a Cutie, The Postal Service and Bright Eyes on the iPod was distracting me, but I found myself on the bridge over the river Adur, forward was the relatively dry roads around Shoreham Airport, behind me, the relatively dry road from which I’d just come. To the left of me, the dryish footpath leading the main road and cycle route along Shoreham Beach, and finally to my right, the Downs Link Way, which is a rather well used path way, but mainly on unsealed ground! Guess which way I chose? 

At first, it was easy going, I built up a little speed, the damp ground of the gravel kicking up under the tyres a little, not a soul to see, just me, the freedom, the air. I cycled a bit faster, indeed top gear and as fast as my little legs could force the pedals round. Then the nice dry gravel gave way to mud, forcing me to navigate large pot holes filled with water, sloppy mud sides and heavy overhanging branches. It would have been easy to avoid such puddles, pools and mud had I been flying, or chosen a different route, but I wasn’t, and I didn’t. I was belting along, trying my best to steer round the biggest and deepest baby lakes of dirty muddy water, then I thought, what the hell, and cycled straight through the next one. Well, come on, there’s no point going off-road cycling in the damp, in the winter if you don’t wanna get wet, nor dirty for that matter. Suddenly, for the first time in months, I felt alive as the coldness of the water soaked through the trakkie bottoms I was wearing. My body tingled as the mud splattered up from the rapidly turning wheels all over my back, front side and head. I got to Bramber, not a mammoth distance, I’ll readily admit, but a great halfway point, from which I could have cycled back along the roadway, but nope, call me Queen Silly of the Silly people if you wish, but there was only one way back for me. Yep, back along the muddy track, that is the Downs Link. I’ve never been so wet, so muddy and dirty, even in my surprisingly well-kempt youth, as I was then, a couple of days ago. Brown chunks of mud clung to my face, my jacket was now three colours, white, blue and mud and my trakkie bottoms, well lets just say they have since dried to be a solid lump of earth with a waistband!

My muscles may have ached, my clothes may have been ruined, my face stinging from the wind, but my mind - cleared, refreshed indeed cleansed. For the first time in over a month, I felt like the real me again!

More soon, hopefully. Comments are always welcome, so thanks in advance!!

Hours and hours and more hours

The frustrations of working in a call centre have increased tenfold this last couple of weeks as the company has seen fit to introduce a new rota of working hours with little under two weeks’ notice.  It is an eleven week rolling rota that seems to have no redeeming qualities and lacks any form of worker friendliness. There is little uniformity or even normality within its schedule of shifts, some of which have increased in length by three or so hours and I’ve yet to hear any of my colleagues utter positive words about it.  One of the key things I detest about this new schedule is a 30% increase in the number of late shifts, another aspect is the varying start times expected during the working week, thus rendering routine redundant. For example, one such week rolls along like this,  Monday 0900 – 1730, Tuesday 0800 – 1700, Wednesday 0800 – 1630, Thursday 0830 – 1700, Friday 0830 – 1700. Another week sees me doing 1230 – 2100 on a Monday, 1030 – 2100 on the Tuesday, 1230 – 2100 on Wednesday, a later start on the Thursday whilst still working till 2100 and another 1230 – 2100 to round the week off. It’ll also mean I’ll be working three complete weekends and an additional three part (Saturday only) weekends. On top of timing frustrations is the revelation that bonus payments have come down, by £50 per month if individual targets are reach. It may not sound a lot, but when you’re working a minimum wage job, 50 quid is two weeks’ worth of groceries and money I can ill afford to lose.    I could pontificate further of my dissatisfaction over a number of other work related issues, yet it’ll only bore you silly and cloud my happy mood whilst also give the impression that I’m noting but a stinky whinger,  so I’ll stop here. 

I suppose there is always a general sense of despondency when you realise you’ve made yet another mistake along life’s troubled highway,  still we learn from our mistakes,  don’t we?

© 2013 Copyright to Jason Shaw

Funny News Days

(2026 Edit - This post was one of the earliest ones found in the archive, dated 14 November 2007, published at 14:01. I was living and working in the seaside city of Brighton, on the East Sussex coast. Images from this post have inadvertently been deleted.)

Do you ever see the news and wonder what the hell is going on with the world? I often do, and today is no exception, for example, catching my eye today from the newspaper and the 24-hour news channels is the very odd story of an Indian farmer who has married his dog! Yes, honestly, it's true, this guy has actually married a dog after a long search for a 'suitable bride'. Selvakumar managed to get a four-year-old mongrel bitch from a friend and had a fully-fledged Hindu wedding in front of villagers and elders on Sunday. Eyewitnesses said the canine bride, named Selvi, was adorned in a sari and flowers and brought to the temple by village women. A Hindu priest conducted the ceremony.

I know we're all supposed to be going green and recycling, but if the latest trend in China starts to happen over here, I'm not joining in! Apparently, over there, used condoms are being recycled into hair bands in parts of southern China! A bag of ten of the recycled bands sells for just 25 fen, which is about 2p, much cheaper than others on the market, accounting for their popularity! Used second hand condoms in your hair sounds pretty revolting to me, but it's happening over in China. However, in one of their local papers, a government official was quoted as saying recycling condoms was illegal.

An ancient law banning an English town from holding a market because it is less than "a donkey ride" away from one in a rival town was branded an ass on Tuesday. Yet the centuries-old law is used by residents of South Shields near Newcastle to prevent their neighbours in North Shields -- just on the other side of the Tyne river -- from setting up a market is still being used. "We have been trying for a number of years to get around this," said Maggie Richardson of the North Shields Chamber of Trade and Commerce, which wants to set up a weekly market. "But every time we have approached South Tyneside Council, they say they were given a market charter some time in the 1200s by King John, so that no one can set up a market within a day's donkey ride.

Other very odd laws of 'Ole England' that still exist, according to a dodgy UK TV channel, include the following:-  It is illegal to die in the Houses of Parliament. It is an act of treason to place a postage stamp bearing the British King or Queen's image upside-down. Eating mince pies on Christmas Day is banned. A pregnant woman can legally relieve herself anywhere she wants. It is illegal not to tell the tax man anything you do not want him to know, but legal not to tell him information you do not mind him knowing. It is illegal to enter the Houses of Parliament wearing a suit of armour. All false, except the last one, as armour has been forbidden since 1313. 

My school days were never as interesting as they are for the kids today in Nottingham. Nope, a young schoolboy was given a very unexpected surprise for his 16th birthday when a stripper turned up in the middle of his drama class. The stripper - dressed as a policewoman - had been booked by the boy's mother, who had apparently asked for a "gorilla" to mark her son's big day. The woman even asked the teenager's teacher at Nottingham's Arnold Hill School & Technology College to film the event so the family could see his reaction. On arriving halfway through the lesson, the stripper walked up to the unnamed boy and made him crawl around the class on all fours like a dog. Then, to a Britney Spears track, she spanked him 16 times - once for each year - before stripping down to her bra and knickers. It was only when she asked the schoolboy to rub cream on her booty that the shocked teacher called a halt to the show! The mother is claiming a booking error for the incident, but surely the school shouldn't have allowed this. I mean, is this the kind of lesson we want our kids to learn?

Edit - I've just been emailed this bit of news from a reader!! A man nicked in Glasgow for having sex with a bike!!!

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/glasgow_and_west/7095134.stm

Laptop hunting

(2026 Edit - This is one of the earliest posts found in the archive of this blog. It was dated 13 November 2007 and published just before noon. At the time I was working for and American company as part of their multifunctional night team, working from 8pm to 8am.)

It's day four of what would be my four away from that place they call work, or rather it would be if I didn't have the next shift off, therefore it's day four of twelve. I shook the sleep from my eyes early this morn and headed on a walk into town. My first thought was to check out the shops in Churchill Square, however as I arrived at the monstrous glass and stone monument to retail delights before 9am, I carried on and headed up towards the Seven Dials area of town. I hardly ever explore this end of town, indeed the only time I've ever spent time up this neck of the woods is when I was shagging a part time DJ with a passion for weed and taking it up back passage when the girlfriend was away!

As memories of those sexual adventures faded I carried on along The Old Shoreham Road until I found myself outside PC World, which is a pretty long way, in fact according to Google maps, it's 4.9 miles! I snuck inside and marvelled at the expensive laptops on offer and wondered, A) if I could afford one. B) If any staff were actually there to help or just chat amongst themselves. After a full 20 minutes of browsing the technical wizardry and no sign of any employee venturing anywhere near me to offer assistance, I departed and trolled up the road to Curry's! 

It occurred to me that service these days seems to be a lost art to most shops. PC World, could and would have had a sale, if only their staff had come to aid me in my laptop deliberations. Yet, as the two closest members of uniformed staff discussed their last nights activities the chances of me splashing out £800 on a new laptop diminished by the second. Yet, at Abercrombie, the staff were there, ready willing and able to assist and offered such on a very regular basis. Even Curry's, never known for good service, offered assistance as I checked out the merchandise, I was tempted, very tempted!

Whilst I was riding the bus homeward, well come on, even I am not silly enough to be walking over 9 miles before lunch, I had a textual conversation with young Jakey and made plans for him to come round this evening. Jake was suffering a dull lecture up at the university on something or other to do with his business studies course. He was also suffering the effects of too much cheap wine the night before, not that he'd been anywhere, it's just last night was one of the few times all the inhabitants of his shared student house were all in, present and correct at the same time. He can't recall the last time that has happened, so they all clubbed together and got 5 of the big bottles of Lambrini! Oh the reckless abandonment of the youth of the day I thought as I read the last text, anyway, Jake was seeking more adult company, or rather, he needs some washing to be done, so plans are afoot for him to make an appearance at Shaw Towers at around 8pm.

My mood buoyed by the promise of spending leisure time with Jake, I started smiling at the old lady sitting across from me on the number one bus, an act that obviously surprised her, as she promptly got up and moved three rows of seats forward! Is my smile that scary? Or is it simply that we've got so used to our insular in our own worlds and have a negative distrust of strangers that for someone to show us a happy greeting is so alien that we recoil away from it?

Now, as I sit at my PC, I wonder why I even bothered to venture into that strange and cold world on the side of what they call out? For I have thousands of electronic retailers at my fingertips all offering better deals that I could have gotten at PC World, had the shop assistants deemed it within the scope of their job function to actually assist!