I got the train back to London today. Sparkling had to be at her Fish Factory early, so I made my own way to the train station. It was nice and cool in Scotland, even refreshing, which is probably due to the fact they have had so much rain. It bucked down hard last night. It may have even rained while I was snoring away and Sparkling had given me a thump to shut up. I didn't feel a thing or remember a thing. Typical, the only time Sparkles can legitimately use bodily force and I don't remember it. Scotland had been cool the entire six days I was up there. I caught the news as I waited for time to pass before leaving. The forecast for tomorrow is relentlessly hot for London, at least ten degrees celcius hotter than Scotland. I don't know how I will survive it. I better lay of the chocolate and try to eat salad, being skinny makes the heat more bearable. The taxi down to the train station ended up being quite entertaining as the driver discussed politics and how he hated working class people who voted Tory. I agreed with him. It wasn't long before I boarded the train for London with two bottles of water in my ruck sack.
A little over six hours passed and about 450 miles later the train stopped at Kings Cross. Ticket in top shirt pocket I used it like a cowboy at the OK Corral, shooting it into gate machines and pulling it out as it popped up through the slot. The gates opened and I'd walk through. Almost in a subconscious state it seemed I followed the route I normally take and have done for many years. Down the steps, down the escalator and then at the tube platform. I must of just missed one train as there were few people waiting. The little orange lights on the board rolled across, in two minutes there would be another. I sat down and rested the stain of a ruck sack and a laptop back from my shoulders. The platform soon got busy again with commuters. It was after all a week day and typical. A whoosh of air shot through the station as it indicated a train was on its way. Half full I stepped on, and stood waiting for a seat to be free. It didn't take long. Closing my eyes for just a moment to relieve the weiryness. I listened to the roar and squeak of the wheels on the track. It stopped and I heard the announcement of the station. It didn't concern me. I could wait a few more stops with my eyes closed. The train took off again and then I noticed the odd smell of London. It was first of puke, faint puke, it could of been from a few hours ago, or on someone's clothes. I could detect body odours, but again slight. Windows were open on the train and a breeze ran through the carriage, otherwise it might of been intolerable with the heat. Then there was the perfume. Clearly there to mask all the other smells. There I had it, the smell of London in a few simple words. Puke and perfume. What a wonderful sentence I thought. It brings to mind immediately the oxymoron of odours which came together here. Apparently whale puke was once used as an ingredient to perfumes. But there were certainly no whales down here, two hundred feet under ground as the train rolled on to the next destination.
I got off at my stop, headed up towards the surface courtesy of the non stopping escalators. Following the signs I headed towards a train platform, 15 minutes and it would be here. There it was again. Perfume. Hundreds of people waited on the platform but someone had walked this way and sprayed a puff of perfume. It was sweet and sickly, much too pungent. The shard stood up only a few metres away. I craned my neck to get a good look at it and must of pulled a muscle. It was hot and getting to be uncomfortable. No wonder people have the urge to vomit.
I was missing Sparkling already. A week had flown by way too fast and London welcomed me back in it's own inimitable way. Reality here has a stink all of it's own.
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