The sick, the lame and the criminally insane…

I’m writing this entry on a scrap of paper, six hours into a hellish British Rail-hilariously detouring-replacement bus-journey between Stafford and Reading – stranded in Watford of all places (nowhere near either!) The idea of the trip had been to get a much needed break from endless commuting – A plan now well and truly knackered.

‘Frustration’ is very much the word of the moment – bored with corporate life, unable to get any literary body to recognise my work for the undiscovered work of genius it so clearly is (!) and watching as the slowest, most jam-packed train in the world pootles down the track whilst a woman next to me rips into to her husband on the phone; chastising him for not being a mind-reader and getting the evening meal ready too early

What to do?

I’ve used the trip to start writing in earnest again for the first time in about three months – a story based on a phrase my father used to say in the eighties – ‘We’ll take anyone here – the sick, the lame and the criminally insane.’

There’s nothing more frustrating than when the words won’t come, and by contrast, nothing more elating than when they do. 

Having garnered some much needed inspiration, I now feel better prepared to endure the final five legs of my journey, and am less likely to take a member of staff hostage and barter their life in exchange for a refund…

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