Train not always in Vain

I been travelling on the east coast line for it seems like forever barring a few years after college when I found out what paying full fare meant and spent hours in purgatory on the National Express. I know the songs great but the reality was rubbish.
9 hours from London to Leeds next to a mad drunk, or some obsessive chubby gothish morrissey fan who kept stopping my tape walkman and forcing me to listen to her tapes, she seemed a little tightly wrapped so I let her until she wanted to share the gum I was already chewing…..

Or another time falling a sleep on the motorway and waking up an hour and half later in the same place. The worst time was coming down to London to live for the first time in my twenties suffering from I found later measles. It was high summer I was sweating more than the cheese sarnies and could hardly walk from the bus to Victoria train station so never again.
Now the train can be bad if like on Tuesday it’s late you’ve read the paper already, left your head phones at home but staring out the window proved enjoyable. The view changes with the years, in times past in mid summer England was clouded in stubble fires, last winter a haw frost turned it black and white; today it was primary colours in Yorkshire the woods on reclaimed mucks stacks were bright green like the freshest lettuce, blue bells blazed in the understory.
On the lowlands every other field was bright yellow with rape seed flowers. Other fields with charcoal black fresh from ploughing. Fields so large they could contain all of Deptford except not a soul was in sight. This does make the choice of a negative film a little perverse but I thought it looked good.
The music is by July Skies who are great an off shoot of the more folky epic 45 check them out you won’t regret it.

The train was mostly pleasant except for the incredibly posh girl across from me, she alternated reading the Mail in dramatic flicky way, with head tossing, ringing her boyfriend Simon or playing with her Jackie O sun glasses. She was most striking the scary symmetry of her face marred only by a large mole/spot on the end of her up swept nose; which probably plagued her more than it should. It would have been good to make a film of her but it would have been super super creepy, so I starred out the window. In the end we all got off the train at Kings Cross not quit like Whitsun Brides not even like Stephen Patrick but thankfully not like Bowie. No I got of the National Express train (oh the irony!) wandered down to the tube recharged my oyster and headed south.