sophie didn't do anything at all.

Sunday, 9 March 2014

| life | travelling.

This week has been the week of mileage. Having run a total of 30 miles and been transported 800+ I'm feeling all over the place.

Thing is. When I'm in public things always go wrong.

Take thursday for instance. To put it simply, the plan was to catch the 5.32 from Newcastle and arrive in Banbury at around 9.30.

Things were going well. I was early, had bought a coffee from Costa and was happily reading a copy of Cosmo. Normally I'm blind because I lose my glasses in the bottom of my rucksack, but being prepared they were already on my face. 

Climbing onto the train I inspected the luggage rack. There was no room on the lower shelf so my ridiculously heavy suitcase would need throwing upwards. As I grabbed it to lift, my hand slipped and lashed out. Now. Ordinarily that would have been fine, I would have sliced through empty space and not had any further issues. But in this instance, a man blocked my way.

Not any man. This man was quite tall. Tall enough that my fist collided directly with his groin.

That sinking feeling.

'Oh Sophie. What have you done?'

Immediately I screamed and stepped backwards (into someone else), before attempting to fit in as many apologies as possible. He hadn't actually moved, and was just standing very still, with a pained expression. Second attempt at stowing my luggage was more successful and I was able to run to my seat, still saying sorry and feeling terrible.

I had hoped that I wouldn't have to see him ever again - we were in First Class and it had been essentially empty when I booked. He walked closer and then checked his ticket. He looked at me, then my seat, then his ticket and then the seat opposite.

Oh.

We shared an awkward smile as he sat down across from me, before I died inside.
There were a number of things running through my head:
- he probably had fertility problems
- and will now forever blame me
- instead of his inadequate testicles.
- I kind of hope he's a woman

That journey actually took 8 hours. We didn't speak a word, and he refused to meet my eyes. We passed Sheffield three times.

I wanted to apologise again - really I did, but my shame and embarrassment got the better of me and I was scared I'd dribble instead.

The next day, when travelling to Bath I almost missed my first train, got on the wrong one second time round and ended up in First Class again for the third.

Oh.

Don't forget the fact that yesterday I dropped the entire contents of my rucksack all over the floor. Because I'd packed it hurriedly it contained a lot, a strange mixture at that.

4 cans of diet coke.
Approximately 8 straws.
One bright blue bra.
two apples.
2 cereal bars
a denim jacket
perfume (3 types)
socks.
smarties (they also spilled too, so it was a double mess)
an assortment of lipsticks and nail varnish
and so on.

Initially, I considered just leaving it all there, but people were giving me weird looks. After about fifteen minutes I started to crawl around - it must have been hilarious because I kept stopping and sighing, hitting my head and texting people updates. Ya know.

this photo is rude. don't do it kids.
So yes. Travelling is fun when you can't find your rail card.

Or if you're me.





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