8.30am, Wednesday morning: I arrive at the train station. I buy a cheap day return to London, asking if there are any return restrictions aside from only being able to use one particular train company. No, I’m told. Get to the platform. Check the timetable. Last train I can get back is 6.30pm. I am cross; while this is not technically a restriction, it’s an inconvenience. I am cross with the jobs-worth woman behind the counter & cross with myself for not checking all the info prior to purchase. I have to cancel arrangements for dinner with a friend. I become even more cross as I watch the fast train come & go before my slow train arrives. Poor me, poor me.
I get on the train. As it pulls away, I get my knitting out & sit back in the glow of the beautiful morning sunshine. The gorgeous scenery passes by the window. After a few minutes, my crossness subsides. Being on the slower service means an extra thirty minutes of sunshine & knitting. Suddenly this no longer feels like an economy, but a luxury.
I dismiss the pain in my chest as the result of knitting in a confined space.