On the way to Elephant and Castle

This is another story from the train, but this one has no ending.

I was already settled in my usual seat beside the window, when these two got on at Elstree. The man sat across from me and the girl beside me.

He was in his forties, probably, and casually dressed, in pale trousers and a blue fleece. Cropped grey hair. Obviously not an office worker. He drew attention because he was carrying, in addition to an exceptionally large rucksack and a large tube that must have contained some sort of equipment, a step ladder. At least, I think it was step ladder - it might have been a folding bar stool, but that seems unlikely. Anyway, it was metal and unwieldy and he kept dropping it with an enormous crash. So, by the time he finally sat down, we were all covertly watching him from behind our books and newspapers.

She was very much younger - late teens, I would guess - and wearing a strappy vest which wasn't suitable for a cold morning. She had spent a lot of time on her appearance and kept flicking her long dark hair. Let's hope she didn't have nits because if she had, we would all have had them by our journey's end.

I've no idea what the relationship was between them, but I'd lay money that she wasn't his daughter.

He then proceeded to give a performance - I can't describe it as anything else, as it was plainly meant for the rest of us to watch and listen to. I think he meant us to admire him. He had an American accent and a very loud voice, and started by hectoring the girl about her having been late that morning, and he had wanted to be away at seven and she hadn't come downstairs until quarter to eight. If she did it again, he declared, he would go without her. She didn't seem to react much. It wasn't obvious who needed the other more.

A bit later, she asked (she had an American accent as well) how many more stops it was until they got there. He said that he could find out, but he couldn't be bothered. So it was clear that he hadn't a clue, for all his blustering. It turned out later that they were going to Elephant and Castle.

Then she asked about the newspapers that people were reading - Metro. He told her (and all of us) that it was a free newspaper, very bland, because it couldn't afford to risk losing advertising revenue by alienating anyone. I caught the eye of the man immediately opposite, who was reading it.

Then he suddently battened on a passenger who was using an e-book reader. How much did it cost, he wanted to know, and how many titles were available and how were they downloaded. The young man tried to explain, saying that he would rather read this than the propaganda peddled by Metro. Again, I caught the eye of the man opposite. He rootled in his rucksack, pulled out a notebook and insisted the young man wrote down his email address. He was meaning to get an e-book reader, apparently, and wanted to ask this young man any further questions that occurred to him. And the young man wrote down his email address.

All the time, he was behaving as if he were on stage, compelling us to listen to his conversation and apparently trying to convey an image of worldly wisdom and power. He didn't speak to any of us directly, apart from the young man, but everything he said was for us all to hear.

Was he somebody famous? How would I know. What I would like to know is: what was the relationship between him and the girl? Why were they going to Elephant and Castle? And, was it really a step-ladder?

Talking to yourself

I suppose I'm getting old - well, I am getting old - but I cannot get used to people walking the streets apparently talking to themselves. When I was young, if you saw someone doing this, you quickly and unobtrusively put as much space between you as possible. Nowadays everyone is doing it, and only in some cases can you see that they are holding a phone.

There was a young chap sitting opposite me on the train this evening and he was mumbling away. He had all sorts of wires draped about his person, as most young people do, and I assumed he was on a hands-free phone. But after a little while I began to wonder, as whoever was on the other end didn't seem to be saying much. I still don't know whether he was talking to himself or not, but he seemed fairly tranquil.

Three things men can't do

1. Draw the curtains properly
2. Lay the tablecloth straight
3. Carry anything upstairs that has been left on the bottom step.

River

I had a really good day today, taking the boat up the Thames from Westminster to Hampton Court. Our planned sailing, at 11 o'clock, had been revised and only went as far as Kew, where we got off, had a coffee and got on the later service to complete the journey. Without the break it would have taken three and a half hours; with the break it took four and a half. So it isn't the form of transport for the (wo)man in a hurry. But when the journey is pretty much the point of the day, when you are sitting and talking and having a leisurely picnic, it is just about perfect. Enough to see to keep conversation flowing but not so much as to excite and distract. All the expected sights at the beginning - the Houses of Parliament, the Tate - but as we went on, from about Hammersmith, the banks getting greener and an increasing sense of seeing London from a different angle entirely; after Teddington, no sense of city at all, just lush banks, big quiet houses with gardens down to the bank, willows, herons, and the wide smooth river.

And yes, the sun shone and yes, my nose has caught it.

Shoes

Having thought about it, I need a new pair of shoes too (though I'm not about to spend £300). A pair of shoes to take account of this ridiculous season where whatever you wear in the morning turns out to be hopelessly wrong by the evening. There are people on the platform in the morning wearing flip-flops, alongside other people wearing knee-length boots.I am so so bored by wearing boots (and they are all falling to bits anyway); and it just isn't warm enough for sandals, as I discovered the day it rained on my bare toes.

So what do I want? A pair of shoes, with covered toes, low heels, not black. And comfortable. So what's the chance of that happening?

Dressing thoughtfully

I've just started reading Linda Grant's "The thoughtful dresser"- and there's a matching blog. All good and interesting stuff, though it's hard to feel kinship with someone who goes out in chapter one and buys a £300 pair of shoes. I can never decide whether I want more clothes or fewer clothes. An effortlessly chic capsule wardrobe denies the pleasure of buying something just because you really really want it; giving in to caprice means never having anything which goes with anything else. But, after all, what can you aspire to, other than the shabby-glam English eccentric look, when the only interesting place to buy clothes is the charity shop?

Trains

I like trains. I like looking out of the window into other people's kitchen windows and gardens, and seeing their washing on the line. And I like the places where, if you travel a route often, you know you will see rabbits, and maybe a fox or a heron. You don't see the same things from a road. All you see is the front respectable face of everything. And if you are map-reading, you don't see anything at all. I don't like map-reading, I always get distracted by something more interesting, and then we miss the turning, and then calamity. Wouldn't it be easier if they painted the roads the same colours that they are on the map so you could see at a glance whether it is the red road you are looking for, or just another yellow road that you've lost count of?

I've always liked trains. Because we didn't have a car at home when I was growing up, we always went on holiday by train. And days out, and days up to London, they were all done by train. So the train was always exciting, it was the start of a treat, it was an adventure. When I went away from home for the first time to work, I went by train; I went to and from university by train, sending a trunk ahead each way each time.

Travelling by car is all very well, all very comfortable, all very convenient, but it isn't exciting and it isn't interesting. I like trains.