Like Wine

Just like you're reading this, I'm sat here writing it. I could write anything for the price of a bottle of wine.    I don't want there to be any misconceptions here about what you're reading. Writing this is part of the Oh-Shit-I've-Missed-My-Stop Scam.    The scam runs thus. I'm travelling by train from Leeds to York, a single is £5.70, but single to Garforth, the first stop on the way to York, is £1.30. Concentrate on something else. Miss your stop. Tell the person opposite what you've done to back up your story. “Oh shit, I've missed my stop.” You we're too engrossed in your writing, reading, whatever. Get off at York. No one checks your ticket as you come out of York station. You're now up £4.40. More than enough for a cheap bottle of wine. It seems like the train is never going to leave the Garforth platform. There's a girl across the aisle talking at her two friends, a couple. She's loud so I can't help listen in. I glance across at the voice in violence.    She would be excused for her overbearing tone if she were attractive and I know I'm going to concentrate on her ugly words till the next stop. I can't tune out.    All I want is to look out at the countryside passing by and she's talking about underwear and herself. “Jenny thinks nothing of spending £350 when she goes shopping,” she say spitefully, as if Jenny was spending her money, “she always has matching underwear ... only got two pairs of underwear that match ... I don't trust the washing machine in the halls ... wash by hand ... I ... my mum does them when I go home ... don't you two look similar ... brother and sister ... I ... yeah like brother and sister ... that'd be incest ... there's been cases ... I ... I've heard ... I know ...”    The train finally rolls out of the station as she continues to rattle, “... I ... I ... I ...” The girl shuts up and listens as I explain my predicament to the ticket inspector when he arrives. He's sympathetic.    I glance over at her. She's looking at me as though I'm sat there in just bra and panties and they don't match.    The ticket inspector moves on to the next set of people.    She starts up again, “I ...” I relax back into my seat as I can now afford to tune out, words unnecessary, writing unnecessary, concentration unnecessary. The job's done.    I look out of the window and watch the lush, spring-green speed past just like wine.

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