Transpennine Express

30th April 2010

On route to Sheffield I've realised the weather isn't chasing me at all. I have boarded a train headed for the mouth of the storm. I don't have my party persona with me but it's too late to turn back. I already have my ticket and have promised to be there for Tom's birthday. Sticking out like a sore thumb in trendy wine bars with unflattering lights and being winked at by burly, vain muscle men is inevitable. We've hit an industrial patch. Huge chimneys spew and spit domes of poison. Forgotten trucks sit lonely in vacant lots. Oddly beautiful till we reach Scunthorpe, the only place I dread more than Grimsby. My Dad would be there right now enjoying his expensive wine, bickering with Susan and forgetting all about me. I envy how content he has become. I wouldn't describe our relationship as a bond. A pinch of effort or a courtesy call wouldn't go a miss. I could call him but I am just about finished with the rejection. I may be a hard faced bitch sometimes but my pride is easily bruised. If I'm to crack a smile tonight I will have to stop dwelling, for now. Lincolnshire is flat like my accent. The sky is dark and doesn't really fit the the colours between the almost identical new villages.

I will welcome Sheffield with open eyes and ears. It has been too long. I'm not sure if I could live there again. Hoards of strangers and I don't mix well. Don't get me wrong, I'm a sociable bird but feel safe in my simple nest. I don't like my own company but can stand it. It forces me to deal with myself.

The backdrop of Doncaster is extra grey. The only thing standing proud is the scaffolding around the cathedral. Northern cities have an air about them. A sprinkle of reform but mostly down trodden and half dead. It's an air I am fond of and have come to rely on. Without it I might stop producing. To quote Marsha from Spaced, contentment is the enemy of all invention. I will stop now as I am surrounded by over inquisitive dickheads and can feel a young man watching me.