I’ve not yet done one of these station blurry shots before though DM has.

In a fix because darkness is falling on just about the dreariest day ever in the history of the universe and with no deeply, gorgeously photogenic subjects throwing themselves at my feet and begging me to shoot them, I decided today was my day to do the shot.

Actually, it’s not at all how I visualised it because I wanted a train disgorging London commuters in the foreground but I was tricked by First Great western whose train to Worcester wasn’t a big inter-city jobbie but a little commuter train so it stopped way off down the track. So this lot of ghostly passengers are making their way from a train behind me to the ticket barrier and then on homeward. I must say, I have been amused by the way that these trains open their doors and many of the passengers leap out and make a sprint for the ticket barriers so as not to get caught in a queue so tantalisingly close to home. I must say, if I had the daily grind of a journey like they’ve had, I’d do exactly the same!

So, back to my people watching tonight – well actually, it’s been people SMELLING tonight! My usually cloth-ears (from too many nights standing next to an enormous stack of Marshalls while watching some band or other) are worse than usual at the moment for some unknown reason and I seem to be almost completely deaf in one ear.

As with anyone, temporarily or otherwise, with an inhibited sense, I have found myself smelling everything around me intently.

I know the chap in front of me (reading a PG Wodehouse) has drunk a coffee, a tea and eaten a tuna fish sandwich. I know the girl opposite (reading a book with the intriguing title ‘the pig who sang to the moon’) has had an apple and a bag of crisps. The chap behind has been eating popcorn. Me? I’ve buried my nose in a cup of hot chocolate. I also bought a bag of posh crisps from the buffet car and was dismayed to discover they came from the town where my overbearing ex-mother-in-law lived so I was momentarily distracted with depressing memories of life from way back. When I steadied my nerve (it’s amazing how much damage such a thought can do for one’s self-esteem), I pulled open the packet and a smell hit me that I’ve not experienced since childhood. The smell of real, fresh crisps. I’d forgotten what a bag of the original plain crisps with the blue-waxed twist of salt smelled like. I must say, I was transported back to a time when I was cared for by my lovely parents who always seemed to make everything right and I never felt as though any harm could come to me. How I loved that feeling of being protected from harm in a way that had no responsibility for me.

My jaunt to the buffet car was quite a revelation – I am in a ‘quiet carriage’ which has an almost church-like feel – hushed voices occasionally drift over to me but otherwise no phones and no cha boom cha boom of personal stereos. As I progressed along the train, the atmosphere became livelier and more rowdy – crowds of people drinking, chatting and generally seeming much more ‘alive’. It reminded me of ‘the smokers carriage’ when I used to travel home from London late at night alone, I would always go for ‘the smokers carriage’ despite not smoking because it always felt safer and more appealing somehow – I don’t know if it’s the Dunkirk spirit of the smoker or what but there always seemed to be a happier atmosphere there than elsewhere on the train.

Now I’m nearly home and I’ve had quite a good week so far – I’ve read two books (sheer bliss), been out to a swanky restaurant on expenses so didn’t have to pay for my own supper last night and now I’m on my way home to DM after a conference call this afternoon revealed a real breakthrough with a very difficult situation.

Someone once said to me that travelling was good because of the anonymity it afforded. I couldn’t see it when I was travelling by air all the time because there is no privacy or anonymity when flying at all as far as I can see – believe me, when you’ve been body searched in Amsterdam airport in full public view, it’s not very anonymous or private. Now travelling by train is another matter all together! I feel like one of these ghostly people slipping in and out unnoticed and unseen.

Postscript: I’ve seen the ‘twinkly bits’ (that means the lights shining on the Tamar) and that means I’m nearly HOME. I’ve leaned my head out of the window and smelled the fresh Cornish air…..in other words cow shit and I’m like a pig in muck.

Last year my travelling frustrations were really getting to me and the year before, we gave the key of the door back and it gave us the key to another door.