Your love’s like a slow train coming. Err no it’s not if the slow train is specifically my train from Oxford home, because then the destination of whatever this love is that Billy Ocean (or Boyzone, if you’re more of a ‘90s kid) was yowling about is Ealing Broadway at 19:56. I’m sure Mr Ocean was willing to sacrifice a great deal for his love, but one draws a line - the Central Line, to be precise, outta Ealing Broadway at 19:56. Even when the going gets tough.
In fact the only saving grace of that lengthy journey was that I wasn’t alighting at Slough. Alighting. When I was younger, and a Londoner still unaccustomed to the exotic concept of overground trains, I used to think the tannoy was instructing people to “delight here”. Well, I can tell you, to realise that particular command in Slough just now would’ve taken a league of delightfulness beyond any human capability.
The ritual of returning home from university occurs. Silently gorging on pasta for an hour, searching the kitchen for residual generic M&S gourmet snack/dessert to a disapproving commentary from critical-mother-because-do-you-really-need-that-third-flapjack, pretending to understand the intricacies of a no-fly zone to excitable-father-hailing-from-Middle East (the crackling World Service practically sellotaped round his head), and then a cursory hello to teenage-sister-I-hate-you-you’ll-never-understand-me-I-have-A levels-you-know-and-a-sore-throat. Sorry all, I know ma momma told me better than to diss y’all on the internet, but it seems I paid no heed.
But of course the official party line is east, west, home is best (so west then), and having just been informed by an increasingly grave Huw Edwards that employment is at an all-time low for female under-24s and will not improve at any point in the near future, I suppose I’d better get used to it. Thanks Huw, that's all for tonight. Now to join the news teams where you are.
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