Should I have travelled to London on Friday the thirteenth? Well, I did, and I’m here, and to prove it to myself, if no one else, I am actually writing it down in my diary. The journey from Newcastle to King’s Cross took nearly six hours and I was the only passenger who remained in the compartment for the whole journey. Other people came and went and it was fun imagining why they were travelling, where they were going and whether their journeys were happy or sad. Eva had made some sandwiches for me and a couple of times I bought myself a cup of tea on the train. From where I was standing in the tea bar I could see through to the dining car where people were sitting at tables having proper meals. Imagine that! The tables were set beautifully with white cloths and jugs of water; the meals looked good but the knives and the forks and the glasses rattled as the train went over the points. Over the points . . . I think that’s the term. Some of the other travellers were quite chatty but I didn’t really want to talk.
