Do you know what I love best about the world right now? I love the fact that I have just sat at York station for an hour because my train was delayed. It was delayed because of vandals at Tewkesbury apparently. And now I'm going to be at least half an hour late for my meeting.
I've been trying to look at things more positively as it seems to be the thing that people want me to do these days, and, you know, I'll give anything a bash. I mean, why not? It makes sense. If you don't stress about things and get angry and frustrated then you don't release all the hormones and adrenaline that make you feel like you could punch someone in the face so hard their eyes would go through the back of their skull. That makes a lot of sense.
So this morning I tried it. And I did pretty well to be fair. First, I was over half an hour early due to paranoid taxi drivers who insist it can take up to 45 minutes to travel a mile and a half. Then I bought an expensive coffee that tastes like rat's piss with extra milk. Then I got my ticket from a rather gnome-like man in the ticket room thing. It had been booked online, which I still think is really quite fancy, by the way. He greeted me with: "You won't be able to get these here I'm September."
"Um, sorry?" said I. I hadn't understood the relevance of this as yet. "Can I get them.here now?"
"Well, can we just deal with today then before I have to start thinking about where I get my prebooked train tickets to Sunderland in September? I might not be alive in September. Why are you banging on about September?"
Realising this was a little harsh I let him off with a weak smile and a nod. Finally I get my tickets and meander to the platform in fairly good spirits.
As I sat and contemplated why the woman next to me had chosen to go out in public wearing Crocs, I listened to loads of announcements about late running trains. "Aw, how frustrating for all those people waiting for the Newcastle train," I thought to myself charitably. And a bit smugly.
And then I realised that I was waiting for the Newcastle train.
Just before an expletive ridden rant ran through my head, I decided to chill. Relax. It's beyond my control and it's only 10 minutes late. I can still make my meeting.
Half an hour later I can feel my gorge rising. People are being all:"It's fine, we don't have to be anywhere, we're on holiday" about it while I'm panicking. A lot. I hate being late for anything, particularly meetings. Despite it not being in my control I immediately start listing the things I should have done to mitigate this situation. These include getting up at 5am to get a train and camping outside the offices at which I am due.
Ten minutes later I'm tapping the platform with my anxious foot and trying to keep a lid on my latent Tourettes on account of the children sitting next to me.
The train finally arrives. I get on. The engines go off.
If I was in a film, this is exactly where I would get up, smash the window, pull the emergency cord, jump off the train and run screaming into the wilderness screaming about how much I fucking hate everything.
Instead I wrote this.