File

I had to go to York late last week. There was an interesting training day and I was more than slightly desperate to be included in it. I even offered to go 5th on the waiting list and meanly hope five people found various ways of being unable to attend, therefore leaving me a route ‘in’. Fortunately there was no need for the five to ‘Find Treasure Island’ or ‘Go To Mystery Moor’, as I received a phone call informing me that the powers that be, were instead, offering five more places, bonus! Then I was in.

I had a strange day. Maybe you can tell, maybe not, the thing is I like talking lolol. Due to the disparities involved within the group of people I was attending the training with, little bubbles of two’s and three’s floated off to ‘be’ one. I was a ‘one’ and felt isolated. Of course the smoking thing also manages to offend, although why that makes my point of view or observation less important or interesting often amazes me, especially if I tell you this was a group of people, the majority of which were professionally non-judgmental – yeah, right.
Anyways. I spent the entire day there, avidly learning all I was taught. Received my certificate, praise - A4 shaped, to place on my wall, or hide in a file. Whatever.

I dashed off to catch the train home, a 45 minute wait at the station. One of those hideous paper carton’s, the size of which ensured my hands looked tiny, full of dish-water pretending to be tea, clutched snugly towards my heart, (it was cold outside (Baby)). All for only £1.7-fcuking-5, the robbing gits. I mean, queuing at the side of a ‘booth’ that could be mistaken for a lay by van parked up at the side of the road, handing over my good money, to be handed back a carton and a shite tea bag and then told to ‘go to the end of there, and pour your own milk in, and sugar, if you want it’, Ally McBeal said a few non-wise words in my head, I told her to stop interfering, that I just wanted a cup of tea or dishwater, I really was at the time of day when you stop caring and just want to get home.
So I took some rubbish photo’s.



The light was yellow and moody in that skanky Sweeny Todd and the foggy streets of London way.



I did enjoy the bike pile though :)



Amsterdam by way of York train station lololol

The bursting at it’s welds train for London appeared on time, along with the huge flock of people, oozing from the station walls (ok, maybe I wasn’t looking), all surging to fight for their place on it. Poor old Thomas. I do love the Brits though, you don’t see the Greeks, the Turks or pretty much anyone, anywhere else in the world, queue so formerly, or well, or that politely. I got on, found the first available seat and plonked myself down, the bucket full of dishwater still swishing (in it’s bibbity-bobbity hat). That was when I realised I no longer had my folder, or my A4 piece of praise.
My bag, my dish-water, my seat, my fight for the seat, my god, shit, shit, shit. The man I was almost sitting next too was a bit confused, can’t say I blame him, I must have looked like one of those people under the sway of a hypnotist told to stand up every time I tried to sit down, due to the seat being very hot, me bum barely touched the seat, before I was this mad woman, panicked, (off the train? Leave my bag to save my seat? Trust the man with my bag? Lose my seat. Where’s my file. WHERE IS MY FILE????) So I picked up my still swishing tea, and my bag and turned for the exit (how long till the train leaves? How important is the file? Can you manage to stand for the entire journey? Does that man think I am mad?). Three people blocking the exit, through them, to meet two guys attempting to put their bikes in the stables provided… “……’s no way this will hold four bikes, cheeky gits, that sign is lying, wh….” jabbering on in my ear, as I politely pushed my way through. Make way, mad woman in panic coming through…. I stepped on to the platform and the train bellowed. Fcuk. It knew... I moved quickly to the bench I’d been sitting on, file not there, the rest of me scanned the other bench’s either side like the Terminator, not missing my train for more searching at benches I know I wasn’t sitting on, turned and in-elegantly clambered aboard the heaving train. Bike wheels staring at me, raised up like spitting vipers, ready to strike, “there she is, she’s a loose cannon she is, lost her (marbles?) file, she has.”

He didn’t think I was mad. Which was a relief. He could see I was agitated and upset, and like Thomas, bursting at my welds. Angry at me, angry at all the time I’d sat there, not realising I had left my folder at the lay by booth selling all kinds of coffee and only dish-water tea. Silly me. Silly? Ally thought of other words, I told her to shut the fcuk up.

The man calmed me down, suggested several ways of retrieving the files (email, copies, pdf’s, another person on the training day) and then we chatted, he was really kind. He had a free training day, and I got someone calm and thoughtful, and with luck someone found my file and they too had a free learning day. Win / win really :)