April 5th, 2004


The woman on the train.

I was with the plebs on the train this morning. This was good for two reasons, I saved money - which I need to do at the moment and I experienced standard class in a Pendolino for the first time.
Anyway, somewhere after Runcorn a young woman entered the carriage and sat across the isle from me. I didn't pay to much attention to her until she started talking to herself. She was quite presentable and quite attractive. Not the sort of person I'd presume to be a loony. Whatever conversation she was having finished quite quickly and she fell silent. An hour or so later, when we weren't far from Watford, she started applying her make-up. At this point I definitely had her down as a nutter. I know I shouldn't judge somebody on their action when I don't know them but I've never understood how women can do that. Isn't it like changing your clothes in public?
Anyway, as I was leaving the train I realised why she was talking to herself. She wasn't; she was reading her lines. Her script was open on the table and she was saying something like "No, he's dead" (plus some more) over and over again.