The Day We Caught the Train

If you have read my previous blogs, you may have picked up that I am a tad hyper and find it hard to justify just doing nothing.  Even my hobbies, such as gardening and walking have purpose.  I blame, I mean 'attribute', this to my upbringing on a North Meath farm where there was always something to be done.  And if there wasn't something to be done, you looked busy anyway.  

  

I remember one teenage afternoon, standing in a gap in a field in Aghamore, where my only duty was to stop the brainless sheep running through.  From out of nowhere, my father appeared across a hill in a mucky car,  like the A Team van (minus the de-de-de-dee, de-de-de theme tune) beeping the horn and banging his hand on the roof, a Major cigarette in hand.  

He roared at me and said 'would ya look lively, would ya?'.  So even then, standing in a gap, I was supposed to look busy. I wondered if I should have knitted a pair of socks, or maybe peeled a few apples for tarts, to maximise my time while gap guarding

You can see how my problems started, can't you ? 

One of the few places that I feel I can really relax is on a train.  Trapped in the confines of a metal carriage, your choice of activities are limited.  I find the constant, gentle rocking motion of the train soothing. A slave to my iPhone, I could spend the entire journey online, but I don't.  I prefer to people watch.  To ear wig.  To observe habits and rituals.  Having chats with random strangers.  Passing judgement on people that you don't even know, a live Jeremy Kyle show before your eyes.  A pretty young mum sucking the life out of a cigarette before you hauls a buggy on the train. 'Do you not know he risks ?' I say silently.

German tourists, confused by the Irish accent in the announcements on the intercom.

Three nuns, their necklaces, the only identifier of who they were.  But looking at their plain clothing and modest clothing, I would have guessed anyway.  Their quietly spoken words and way of being.

I sat beside a bubbly young woman yesterday on an early morning train.  She was eating crisps and working eagerly on a college project, her hand writing suggesting her young years.  An 'Event Management' student, she said.  My ears pricked up.  'Oh, I'm involved with Culture Night.  We had 56 events in Kildare last week'.  I was met with a blank face.  She never heard of it.  'Is that a new initiative ?'  'Kind of', sez I, 'it's been around for 8 years or so'.

A frail looking older man, accompanied by his daughter.  He looked anxious, but nodded and smiled as his daughter talked him, through what would happen when he met his consultant. I imagined the contents of  his hold all.  Newly purchased pyjamas, a wash bag full of toiletries that he wouldn't use at home.  She touched his hand. 

Immaculately presented staff politely offering 'tea or coffee madam ?'

Two women, around my age.  Talking about their friend.  'Too thin'...  'Yeah, too thin'.  'It's surprising really ... you know ... given all the wine and chocolate that she eats ...''. 'Yeah ...'.  'Is she still smoking?' 'No, she gave up when she found out that she was pregnant'. 'Oh, right.  I could have sworn that I seen her smoking lately.  It must just be the odd one now and then'.  'Yeah, it must be'.

The surfer dude with low slung jeans, showing off his cheap boxer shorts, listening to too-loud music on his iPod.  Does he not worry about his hearing ? 

Regular commuters with serious faces, furiously working on laptops, getting an hour in before they get to the office - giving them a chance to get home early tonight to put the kids to bed.  Women in tailored suits with ugly runners, ready to rush onto the Luas, before changing into heels as they arrive at their workplace.

Checking out the style.  A fabulous stitched leather handbag.  A great pair of boots for walking around the city.  The perfect 'day to evening outfit', clever I thought.  Gleaning ideas for my future outfit combinations.

A couple in their 70's.  They looked like they were 'comfortable' financially. They (the wife probably) had gone to great efforts with a picnic. A flask (a heavy yoke to be carrying around Dublin all day, I thought), a knife to peel fruit, an impressive sandwich collection.  The woman served the hubby refreshments, who was reading the Indo.  She fixed his collar, told him that he 'missed a bit' shaving. Country folk on a day out.  They reminded me of my own parents.  I felt a pang and wanted to be at home in Meath and have tea in the kitchen there and then.

We are almost in Heuston.  The usual scramble to gather bags and put on coats, forming a queue, saving thirty seconds in travel time.  And we arrive.  And with that, the promise of a brand new people watching experience.  To do a Maeve Binchy on it - to listen in incognito, observe and gather ideas for stories