People are strange…

22 10 2014

As with most commuters that use the train in to London, I follow a boring pattern.

I arrive at the train station at the same time every morning.

I walk to the same spot on the same platform every morning.

I stand next to the same people every morning.


Everyone exchanges a little smile of recognition (or just stare straight ahead like a blinkered horse), but that’s about it.

You wrap yourself up in your own little protective bubble and sit in silence.

Chances are you’ll never know the people around you.

It’s a great shame.

But I’m not one for rocking the boat so I bury my head in a book and stick to the pattern.

Unless of course there’s a glitch in the Matrix and destiny says otherwise.

St Albans hosted its annual Beer Festival the other weekend.

A group of us went along to savour the delights of UK beers and revel in our mastery of the art as only Englishmen can.

As I was knocking back an ale from Warton, a neighbouring village to where my parents live, when something grabbed my attention.

I caught a fleeting glimpse of someone I recognised whizzing through the crowd in CAMRA type livery (shorts, polo shirt, sandals etc.).

It was Mr. X, a commuter I sit opposite to most mornings.

So I was confronted with a choice – ignore the fact I saw him and therefore not have that awkward conversation each morning when both parties just want to read the paper, or go over and introduce myself.

Being the nice human that I am, I of course chose the latter.

Mr X is now called Mark.

After an initial exchange of pleasantries on the first morning of travel post-beer festival, we will now just say “Morning,” or moan and joke about the tardiness of the trains.

I’m glad I made that initial introduction.

If we’re travelling together one evening after sampling more delights of the alcoholic variety, I might be able to rely on him to wake me up at my stop.

So maybe people aren’t so strange after all.

Perhaps it’s just me.

And I’m sure Wifey would agree with that.