23 Hours - the third hour

02.00. Although I can just about follow the articles in the newspaper my eyes are constantly flicking towards the briefcase. Finally I give up and put the paper to one side and life the case onto my knees. I click open the fastening and try to look casually inside but anxiety means I cannot help but stare at the package. It is still there as indeed I knew it would be. Even as I close the lid again I want to open it to check again. I must relax or I will give something away

02.05. I have locked the briefcase and placed it on the shelf above the seat opposite me. This way I can just lift my eyes from the paper and see it to reassure myself. I have decided to try the Sudoku. Unfortunately it is a hard one and I can feel my mind wandering onto the challenge of the day ahead. The rhythmical sound of the train on the track is soporific.

02.10. I cannot afford to fall asleep so I sit upright and widen my eyes in an attempt to fight the risk of them closing. I could do with a drink, a tea, so I begin to consider if the train will have a buffet car. Although I doubt it very much given the time of this service, the numbers aboard and the general quality of service I decide to take a walk through the carriages to see.

02.15. I lift down the briefcase and begin to navigate my way through the carriage. It takes a certain amount of shifting my weight from leg to leg to develop the walk that avoids bouncing my hips against the sides of the seats as the train moves. As I walk through the carriages I am able to check out the other passengers. All men apart from a woman with her head buried in a book. Apart from a couple glancing up briefly as I go by them they seem to be paying no attention to me.

02.20. The buffet car is shut as I really knew it would be but had desperately hoped wouldn’t be the case. The result is I now want a drink more than ever. The fact I can’t get one makes it even more desperate. I turn to walk back to my seat only to be immediately halted by finding myself staring face to face at the woman from the next carriage. She has the greenest and most beautiful feline eyes I have ever seen and my already dry mouth turns arid.

02.25. “It’s not open then,’ she purrs staring past me at the shuttered bar. “No, no, it’s shut” the words stumble from my mouth and I feel like an awkward schoolboy. “Ah well,” she says and turns to go back. I let her leave the carriage before I give myself a shake and take a deep breath. I must focus on what I have to do.

02.30.  I squeeze the handle of the case tightly until my hand begins to throb and the pain begins to block out all other thoughts. OK, I shall walk calmly through the train and back to my seat and reflect on how the day should play out. I take out my phone to check the time and see the battery life has dropped to 19%. How can that be, it’s just been in my pocket.

02.35. I hold the phone and, as I walk through the carriages, open the settings and turn off as many apps that could be draining the battery. By the time I get back to my seat it is now functioning like the first mobiles, as a phone. I check the time, 02.39 and slump down into my seat.

02.40. “Hello again.” The woman from the buffet car is sitting opposite me. “I hope you don’t mind but one of the other passengers was bothering me. Don’t worry I just want to read my book.” With that she looks down into the pages and I am left staring at her and wondering how she knew I was sitting in this carriage. I put the case on the seat next to me and let my hand rest on it.

02.45. Why does silence seem so artificial when you are sitting with someone? The desire to converse becomes overwhelming but I know I can’t engage with anyone today. I need to remain anonymous, a cipher in the day. The fact that this spectacular woman has spoken to me is potentially very dangerous. I take out my phone check the internet and distract myself to remember I have turned 3G off. 17% on the phone battery.

02.50. She glances up at me and smiles. My mouth is even drier. I turn my head towards the window in the hope that she will go back to reading. The train is beginning to slow as we approach the first station. One hour of the journey gone. If I had the time I would get off and catch the next train so that I would fade from the memory of the woman opposite.

02.55. As we pull to a halt I see a drinks dispenser on the platform. I leap from my seat and press the button jumping through the doors as they slide open to save moments. My hand dives for change in my pocket and I purchase two bottles of water. I hear the guard’s whistle and wave frantically to make sure she knows that I am getting back on. I am through the train doors just as it begins to move again

The very tiny shrimp

Deep on the ocean floor life is not too different from our own life on the land. There is a wide variety of fish, mammals and other forms including flowers and plants. Life goes on under the water and for most of us on the land we hardly ever think about it. Although sometimes we do when we are at the seaside or on a boat and when we are eating fish or their ‘fingers’.

So I would like to tell you about one little creature that lives on the seabed. His name is Roland and he is a very tiny shrimp.

Shrimps by nature are small. Smaller than the prawns, king prawns, langoustine and definitely much smaller than the lobsters. So let’s get this straight so we all understand, shrimps are the smallest and Roland was the smallest shrimp of all.

Now, much like life on land, those that are unusual can often be picked upon so Roland, being the smallest of the crustacean genus, was a constant attraction for humour and cruelty. Some of it hurt him so much it made him feel sick.

One day a large underwater earthquake trembled the seabed sending rocks, stones and sand up into the water. As the bed settled again much of the sea life found themselves in a completely changed terrain.

For Petula the Lobster life had taken a dramatic turn. A rock, falling from the waves had trapped her tail. Now Petula was one of the most vicious tongued of the lobsters and had been consistently mean to Roland.

As she screamed in pain all the other fish and sealife just swam or scuttled by. Her pleas for help fell on deaf gills. As she cried, her salty tears mixing with the water, Roland came around the corner and saw her.

As he moved towards her Petula knew that he was her last hope for help. As she looked down on this tiny little shrimp she remembered how horrible she had been to him. Yet here he was, the only one to answer her screams. She felt terrible in her heart and was now crying for another reason.

As Roland got nearer Petula spoke. “Roland, Roland, can you ever forgive me for all the horrible things I have said and done to you?”

“No,” said Roland walking by.

23 Hours - the second hour

01.00. The cab moves away from the kerb and I check my phone for the time. I should just about be ok for the station. I realise the phone is my only way of knowing the time. I should have brought the charger. “More speed, less haste,” I say out loud which earns a response from the driver that he is doing his best. I’m about to explain when he puts the radio on. I had forgotten how rubbish early morning radio is. It is a punishment for those who cannot sleep.

01.05. Which part of God’s great plan means every light will be red when there is no other traffic on the road. I have the only cab driver in the world who honours the highway code to the letter. As the lights turn amber we do not move. It’s only on green that we creep forward. I have a sudden panic and open the briefcase. My pumping hearts believes I have left it home my head knows it is in there but only sight will confirm.

01.10. I sit back and relax. The package is safe in the case and we are beginning to make good speed as we hit the motorway. I now believe that I will be there on time. I close my eyes and let the world become just noise. Sound of car, DJ and my breathing. I open one eye and see the driver staring at me in the rear view mirror. He seems to be looking at my neck. Oh God, it’s the blood stains. How am I going to be invisible today? I will have to buy a new shirt if I get time.

01.15. The rain is beginning to fall heavily and as a result the effectiveness of the wiper blades has been revealed. The visibility through the windscreen is extremely poor and the lights bouncing off the road and raindrops makes this journey suddenly dangerous. The driver has now decided to go at the speed I had hoped for earlier. I wonder whether he has a death wish but at least he has stopped looking in the rear view mirror. His attention is focused on the road ahead.

01.20. I waste a little of the battery charge on the phone to check the time. I am beginning to feel that my fears on getting to the station on time will be unfounded. The stupid part of me now thinks I could have pressed doze or at least showered at a pace that wouldn’t have torn the fresh scabs from their sores. The packet in my case weighs heavy on my mind

01.25. The cab takes the final roundabout and the glowing neon sign of the station looms into view behind the spray. It is clear that the driver has not been here before as finding the drop off point reduces our speed to a crawl. I attempt to give him instructions but the radio’s constant drone mitigates my efforts. Finally he sees the space and pulls in. In one movement the radio is off and a request for money is barked through to the back seat.

01.30. Having paid the bill I get out clutching the bag in my hand with so much pressure my knuckles went white. Another fear defeated, another nightmare punctured. The bag is not being driven off on the back seat of a taxi and the driver was not sent to intercept me. I take a long deep breath and watch the lights of the cab turn the corner. Just me again.

01.35. I have purchased my ticket using notes withdrawn from a cash point that have only touched my gloves. I also purchase a newspaper, water and some chewing gum making sure to mask my face from the CCTV cameras. I have found a dark part of the station to sit and wait. I flick at the newspaper but I am so apprehensive about the day that it is impossible to concentrate.

01.40. My eyes are constantly flicking up to the departures board. As yet there is no movement but my stomach will not let me rest and relax. I know that the train will not just flash up and then leave at the same moment. Or at least my rational mind knows that. My fears however keep telling me it will be there and gone. After all the hurry and anxiety time is now hanging heavy.

01.45. The train has appeared on the departure board. A handful of people are making their way to the platform. I shall leave it until one minute, no two minutes before it is due to leave. I am keeping a watchful eye on the other passengers but as yet there is no one I recognise and no one who causes me any worry. I gather my paper, water and finally the case and slowly stand.

01.50. I have found a seat facing forward with my back to the end of a carriage. From this position I can have a view of the whole space which is currently empty except for myself. There can be fewer than ten of us aboard and the majority have walked toward the far end of the train. The psychology of being nearer the front so you get to your destination quicker. With a sharp whistle the train moves off.

01.55. Once again I find my body begin to relax. Another part of this journey can be ticked off. I stare at my reflection in the window. Beads of rain run down my hair and cheek but fortunately on the other side of the glass. I cannot believe how tired and old I look. I just want this day to be over with. I open the paper and find I can read.

23 Hours - the first hour

00.00. The alarm goes off and drills into my sleep 'fracking' the depths of my mind and bringing muddled thoughts to the surface. I am awake, but it takes a few moments before I can remember why I set the alarm. I consider hitting the 'doze' button but I know I have left the minimum amount of time to get ready. Pushing back the duvet with an arm which is both leaden and fizzing with the shock of the rude awakening I swing my legs over the side of the mattress.

00.05. I have silenced the chirruping fool that sought to disturb my rest and stare at the time on the alarm clock. The vibrant red angular numbers are shapes from a distant past. They come from the time when watches and calculators were first introduced. The new digital font was a source of much amusement to young boys at school back then. How much joy was produced by turning the display upside down to reveal ‘B00BS’?

00.10. The shuffled walk across to the bathroom. At this point of awakeness the effort of my lifting feet higher than the top of the pile of the carpet seems unimaginable. As a result I am accompanied by a sound similar to corduroy chaffing. Hips and legs have not received the requisite amount of blood to tackle such a high-energy workout. The light in the bathroom is sharp and cutting in its criticism of my sagging physique.

00.15. I will attempt my ablutions. A lovely word that holds my attention and allows my mind to imagine the contorted shapes my mouth could make uttering the sound-  aaaabbbbloooooooshunssss. It is too early to attempt real speech. I know it need a mug of tea to clear the gravel from the path of my throat to allow the words out smoothly. This will be a long day so I will change the blade in my razor to ensure the closest of shaves.

00.20. A nagging voice in my head was reminding me about something that happens with new razor blades and me. The drips of blood in the sink and the confetti like toilet paper around my chin provide a visible reference for future memory loss. I stare at my face and remember looking up at my father in similar situations. How brave he seemed to a young child carrying such pain and loss of blood without complaint.

00.25. The one element of the morning I cannot accurately calculate, how quickly will my bowels listen to the messages from my head? This is not a time they are normally awake and they seem confused at the request to evacuate. I fear they believe that it is a dream state trick and that to obey could result in a lot of sheet washing and blame. Still, the strain appears to have coagulated the blood on my face and I now have small white flowers with a single red dotted stamen over my chin.

00.30. I shower quickly trying to win back lost time. How could I have believed when I set the alarm that I could be ready to leave the house with such a short preparatory time? In attempting to move quickly I am more violent in my washing. What good the toilet paper has done to my bleeding face is reversed by my hands. A light blood coloured water now runs towards the plug. What time I have gained will be lost in re-patching my cuts

00.35. I brush my teeth and then dry with a towel still damp from the previous night and then struggle to pull socks over slightly damp feet. Having repapered my face I risk putting on a white shirt and finally finish with trousers. I glance at the alarm. It’s going to be tight but I can still make it. Well, I have to make it. I dash downstairs and realise that I have no time for tea so drink a glass of orange juice which performs a chemical reaction with the remnants of toothpaste.

00.40 For God’s sake what is it with laces when you are in a hurry. Like Medusa’s hair they fight with my hands as snakes. I hear myself shouting at them “I’m going to strangle you if you don’t help me.” What sort of a threat is that to shoe laces? Finally, by breathing deeply and moving slightly more slowly I am able to secure the footware. “Less speed, more haste,” I mutter as I make my way to the hall way and glance in the mirror.

00.45 One look and I realise that my blood stopping skills are not at the paramedic level and my collar looks like the inside of a dentists spittoon. It is too late to change and I realise I am going to be conscious of my Sweeny Todd neck for the rest of the day. Whilst coming to terms with this I find myself thinking that the expression is “More speed, less haste.” The alarm on my phone goes off. Five minutes left.

00.50. In switching off the phone alarm I realise I have forgotten or failed to charge it. The battery is at 27%. Probably not enough to even get through to lunchtime. I plug in the lead for a five minute burst and make my way to cupboard under the stairs. Opening the door the light from the hall falls on the package. Wrapped in anonymous brown paper it looks as innocent as an angel. I pick it up nervously and place it inside my briefcase.

00.55. The doorbell rings as I am slipping on my coat. I unbolt the door and open it a fraction. “Taxi,” says a jaded looking man with yellow skin. “One minute,” I reply pushing the door to and checking my face and clothes again. I pick up my case and am about to leave when I remember my phone. I pull it from the lead and notice the switch at the wall is off. Brilliant. Down to 26%. This is not what I need today of all days.