This guy sat down next to me. “Are you writing a song?”, he said.
I was on the station platform waiting for the 16.53 to Leeds and making some notes. On a yellow legal pad with a fountain pen – with purple ink.
We talked for a bit. He’s in town doing some construction work. Writes songs. Likes the Beatles. Emigrating to Australia next week.
It was a short chat. He hopped on a train. I took the next one.
The afternoon had turned out glorious. The sun was out. The landscape flashed by. Grey clouds dotted a blue sky like an armada arriving off the coast of Normandy.
I noticed solar panels sprouting on warehouses. Elegant, flat panels covering south facing roofs.
Not the smoothest train ride and hard to write on. Another passenger remarked that he’d never been on a plane. More accidents now. His neighbour didn’t like trains going through tunnels.
Horses, each with a field to itself. One field with a row of VW Type 1 Beetles. Maybe being restored by the people in the grand new build next door.
You see and hear a lot more of life when you step away from the computer.
Handcrafted insight 