I was going to post this last night as it was happening, but I held back temptation. I’ll explain.

So it’s 9.30, and I’ve boarded the train at South Kensington station after to going out for a dinner date and a chill walk. I’m feeling good about the journey back – it’s one of the only occasions that food hasn’t made me feel like shit, and I’m close to finishing this book. So I had my plan set, sit back, feel whelmed on food and read.

Three stops pass, and we’re pulling into Green Park, two females and a male gets on the train and have already disturbed the journey. I glanced up, and I will admit they were a very attractive and visually stunning group of people. I paid no attention after that point because I had a plan I had committed to and I was adamant to make some form of headway towards finishing this book.

Another stop passes, enter the bustle of Piccadilly Circus, the group’s conversation was getting a bit louder. They were discussing genres of music that they liked – I mean great conversation to have, it’s open for much interpretation and debate. What made me chuckle and stop paying attention to the book I was reading, was the fact that the guy started describing some incredibly deep and thought through response on why he had separated himself from ‘mainstream’ music. He then explained how he decided to spend more of his time listening to and mixing together instrumentals and they spoke to the soul more. The girls’ response was of the off-handed type, ‘Yeah that’s cool, but we just listen to a bit of everything’. To which he responded, ‘yeah I was going to say that, but it didn’t make me sound in tune or interesting’. I had a full body cringe in solidarity with him because I felt his bubble of confidence shrink.

Calling at King’s Cross St Pancreas and the conversation has stilted slightly. His responses are less intriguing, and he looks like he is looking for an escape route soon. The girls are bashfully talking about each other’s contact lenses, coloured a very pale and baby blue shade, and how they aid in making them look more ‘exotic’. The guy was confused for two seconds questioning, ‘Wait your eyes aren’t blue?’ At this point, I wanted to interject, but I bit my tongue, just eagerly waiting for the next instalment of this journey.

At Caledonian road, he started to fiddle with his phone at the realisation that this endeavour was coming to an end. He’d lost his flow and couldn’t pick himself out of the dirt to try again.

By Finsbury Park, he was gone. No goodbye uttered. Just a nod of his head as he grabbed his bag and scarpered toward the Victoria line. The ladies none the wiser of his departure, they were engrossed in a conversation about events from a night out they had two weeks ago.

And that’s where my entertainment ended. I mean, I shouldn’t laugh, but the exchange was just too amusing to ignore.

I didn’t end up finishing my book; it became obsolete as my eyes flicked back and forth between the two ladies and the gent. I won’t even lie and say that once the women left, I continued reading because by that point I had packed away my kindle and was preparing to get off the train at my stop.

I had a weird week coming up at work – I’m only working three shifts then have a three-day weekend. Maybe I’ll go cinema or even a walk in the forest for photography inspiration. Who knows.

I guess it’s time to sleep. I say sleep; it’s more relocate to a comfier location to fiddle with my phone.

Have a pleasant evening and hopefully a productive Tuesday.

Eli