A new Romantic

I'm more of a cynic than a romantic; ask anyone and they'll more than likely agree- except possibly mike, who has had the rare delight of seeing me as a romantic on several occasions. However, even the most cycnical person to roam the earth couldn't have stayed so after seeing & experiencing what I did.
Let me explain...

Last weekend was Jack's 21st birthday party, which I paid £13.75 and travelled 2 hours and 45 minutes to attend. I had to change trains at Gloucester which is, and I apologise to any Gloucestionians who may be reading this, the most backward hole I've been to in a long time. This view, to put it into perspective, is formed entirely on my experience of the station and nothing else. Not only did I have to wait 40 minutes for my connection, a fate bad enough you may think, but I also really needed the toilet!

First, fleeting impressions were adequate, positive nearly- I did not have to roam far; a mere 20 paces down the platform to a well signed door. I did not hve to part with 20 pence to relieve myself unlike at New Street. It all seemed fine...until I opened the door.
My banished cynicism quickly returned; practically bounding up to me and leaping in my face like a puppy left alone while the owner takes a break from being responsible. I felt like the owner too - i found it suprisingly nice to find there is hope and pleasant fluffy feelings inside of me; it was liberating, but after a while something started niggling at me, telling me something was missing. And when the owner returns, inevitably they are greeted by puppy dog eyes and a cute face, and wonder why they left in the first place - that was me...why did I let go of my cynicism?

I sat on the toilet and then realised there was no loo rol, but of course my bladder not being too well acquainted with my brain had already started to empty. Equally I had failed to pack any tissues. I sighed when I left the cubicle (which was hasty as the toilet made a threatening noise not dissimilar to a car backfiring, upon flushing!) I went to wash my hands; but of course there was no soap, and so I was only mildly suprised upon reaching for the taps to discover they weren't there either! Just as I was leaving another lady entered my cubicle, I inwardly sighed when I saw in the mirror that she checked there was toilet paper first. One day I will get it right! Suddenly I understood why they charge 20 pence at New Street- It ensures there are basics like soap and taps! I left the toilets convinced that I'd contract some horrible Gloucestershire disease that would surely kill me at somepoint in the near future and went to find the waiting room.

What I found was a collection of 12 seats back to back in the lobby of the station, placed for your comfort and convenience, in between the door ot the car park and the door to the platform, with a complimentary chilling through breeze. There were of course more than 12 people 'waiting'. 'Nevermind' I thought 'I'll go and sit on the platform'.
Upon inspection of the cave paintings on the wall I found I was to depart from platform 1. Easy enough. Stepping onto the platform I discovered i was on platform 2. A sign informed me Platform 4 was 'over the footbridge', but as for 3 and 1, well, that was anyone's guess. Platform 3, I eventually spotted was to my left, at the end of platform two and on the other side apparently with the tracks disappearing into the ticket office and toilets. Beginning to catch on to the layout I looked to my right down platform two. I could see a lot of people gathered at the far end of platform 2 some way in the distance, finally I caught sight of a sign informing me platform 1 was '3 miles at the end of platform 2 where all the people are stood you idiot!' Silly me. I walked the 3 miles to find all the benches bar one were taken- you had to wade through a lake of coffee with an island of cake in it to get near it. I risked it.

When on the train of one carriage, my cynicism increased tenfold when the inspector asked to see my ticket 10 minutes before the train had even left the platform. If only they were as stringent with people stealing their taps was all I could think 'or mabye' my cynicism leapt off the scale 'they were new measures put in place to foil any more tap stealing or soap dispensing!'

Things soon started to pick up, by which I mean the train actually left the station, and I'd only been asked twice to show my ticket to the over enthusiastic inspector, when two people got on the train. One sat behind me, the other across the aisle from me. As soon as the woman spoke I wanted to slit my wrists. The voice was deep, and even more worryingly deeply, deeply West Country and very, VERY loud. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm from the West Country and I love the accent. It's unique and bizarrely homely to hear, but this, well, this coupled with the grammar, or lack of, well it was all I could do not to either wet myself laughing or get up and shake her to death! The conversation went something akin to this:

'Arwww, it wars goord to see unkle baaab again, weren't it? 'e 'asn't changerd ar bit 'as he? 'E do make me larf somethin' bard tho'!'
'Yers'
'Owwww 'e do make me larf' Pause ' 'e's so goord int 'e? I feels murch morre happier now innit.' This was followed by what I assume was laughter, but what sounded more like a donkey going into labour. Unfortunately the eager ticket officer, no doubt to check my ticket for the fourth time in ten minutes, chose this moment to appear on the scene.
'Erxcuse me'
'Yes'
'Does this 'ere train go right thro'?'
Baffled the inspector replied 'to where?'
'Werrll, right arn thro'. Or does we 'ave to change art Swindorn?'
'Ah' the inspector caught on 'if you mean London, no, you have to change at Swindon.'
'Arrr' The donkey went into labour again 'only ais thart they's goin' all ther way through like, innit.'
'No, this one doesn't. The longer trains do, but these little ones don't'
'Arr, raight, only ais thort they's go through like. So wer change art Swindorn thern.'
'Yes' the inspector clearly didn't know what to do and chose the safest option of scurrying back up the train, very quickly.
'Tharnks everr so murch for 'elpin' us like, else we wouldn't 'a knowrn whart to do like, innit, like, we wasern't sure like'. She called after him. 'Wer'll change art Swindorn then' she clarified 'Ais glard he told urs like, ais feels a lort more happier now' She said to the whole carriage.

Just as I was seriously considering whether the judge would be lenient on me for strangling her if I explained well enough and used the ticket inspector as my witness, I suddenly forgot everything. The train turned a corner on the side of the hill and suddenly bitterness, hostility and anger were banished, instead hope, happinness and a strange longing filled my soul.

There stretched out for miles was a view that melted me, made me forget everything and totally immersed me. The Cotswold stone cottages scattered among trees and lanes like a perfect model village. Babbling brooks with birds swooping over them wove among the trees. The church perched on the hilltop, the sunlight dappled and dancing through the leaves. The sheep grazing and the lambs skipping among the lush green grass. As my eyes soaked it all up I forgot I was on a train, instead I was convinced at any moment I'd see a fleeting glimpse of a deer in the sunlit forest we were snaking through, or a fox capering among the lush tall grass of a field. Nothing could get to me, and the longing filling me was to be able to roam free in this wonderfully stunning place. It inspired carefree thoughts and a warm, happy feeling, and then, just as suddenly as it arrived, it was swept from view by a tunnel; when we emerged it was endless flat fields and an overcast sky. I felt though that nothing could take from me the feeling, the magic the view had given me; and so I held onto the feeling when I crashed back to earth with a bump, well with the noise of a donkey going into labour actually; and I closed my eyes and smiled, and not a murderous thought entered my head.

Nature truly is an awe inspiring force, I've learnt to hold onto the feeling it gave me, and cast aside my cynical feelings. And now, I'm off to investigate a mysterious rash I'm breaking out in, medical websites assure me its a sure sign of something potentially fatal and more than likely picked up from not washing my hands after using a contaminated toilet...