The grey man on the train

A poem inspired by a rather grey man in the Southern Trains. 

A grey man sits opposite me on the train.
He looks old and tired; tired from a lack of sleep due to his persistent chesty cough.
Tired of life.
His wife tells him every morning without fail to go to the doctors:
“You’ve had that cough for months!”
But the grey man pushes aside her nags, muttering to himself:
“All they’ll do is write me a prescription for more than we can afford or tell me to hang in there.”

The grey man looks like he’s on his way to work:
Briefcase bursting at the locks; a wrinkled shirt buttoned to the top under his thick, winter coat.
He looks like he should be back in bed, stretching himself awake from a good night sleep.
Note: his throat feels warm and at ease with the absence of that pesky, persistent chesty cough.
He stretches out for the cup of tea his dear wife made him just minutes before.
Little Alfie comes bounding into the bedroom, yapping through the cosy bubble of solace with this mornings post and newspaper.

The grey man starts to work on his pride and joy: the garden.
The plants need to be moved inside the greenhouse so they don’t die in the autumnal freeze.
Gloves on, patchwork scarf wrapped tight around his neck and over his mouth.
He gets to work, filling the wheelbarrow and transporting the plants to their new home.
“Super time!” His wife calls from the kitchen window.
He sighs and smiles to himself at the thought of home made chicken soup and bread.
He takes off his gloves and makes his way into the warm arms of his home.

That would be the life; the dream.
But instead the grey man sits on the train this morning;
His head tilted into the nape of his neck;
His wonky glasses balancing precariously on the end of his nose as he has a little snooze.
Dreaming.
His hands clasped around a hard back book: Winter Care for Plants.

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My first blog post

It’s Friday afternoon, we are on the cusp of the weekend – in 1 hour and 23 minutes, to be precise – computers will be logged off, desks will be abandoned and we will descend into the lift and out of the building, feeling a sense of elation until the working week starts again…

This rather cold and wet (slightly snowy, but not really because we are in London after all) Friday afternoon has been dragging. Work is quiet and the menial tasks left are not worth starting and should certainly be saved until Monday’s tackle.

This lead me to thinking maybe I should start a blog.. and I don’t mean start a blog and post something and then never come back to it again… (believe me, I think I have about 10 or so blogs set up on various sites with just the one post – I’m an expert at that).

I guess the reason I haven’t quite got into blogging is because I’ve never really had a solid reason/subject matter to start a blog on. And instead of writing about this, I have left the reasoning and thinking in a knotted jumble in my head – this is my attempt of slowly undoing those knots and letting the ribbons flow.

I live in London. I like London. I also like the countryside. I love the countryside! I also have a deep desire to explore every inch of the world and beyond it. Beaches, festivals, love, music, dancing, soul, swing, the sea..

I will be writing posts about all the great things you can do in London and afar and hope to inspire you to get out an explore. I will be writing about the trials and tribulations of London life, the bliss of the countryside, adventures into the unknown. And there may be the odd poem or story…

Who knows what you may find!

Follow me if you wish to be inspired (or to just live vicariously through me..)