One of the joys of commuting (yes, there are a few) is that you have a perfect chance to observe your fellow humans with their guard down.  It's because it is such an unnatural environment, we all pretend that everyone else is invisible for the duration of the journey.  I'm as guilty as the rest, happily putting my make up on each morning on the train, when I would never do the same sitting in a cafe.

Just occasionally, conversations start, though normally it takes an event to bring hardened commuters together.  If the train is stuck for example, people chat, offer lifts as we all remember that we are humans, not robots.  That is why the experience below was so peculiar - it was all so prosaic and ordinary, I had done nothing to provoke a reaction.  I was on the train and went slowly passed a bloke standing on the platform.  We made eye-contact and the look of mingled fury and rage I got was incredible. I had no idea what I'd done to provoke it - maybe he'd just had a bad day, but my writer's mind immediately starting racing through scenarios and consequences...

Their eyes met, sliding over each other as the train wheezed to a stop.  Prickling with threat, she waited, tense with anticipation until the train restarted

Surprises: the older I get, the less I like them.  It is normally because they add a layer of unnecessary complexity to life.  Simple arrangements become houses of cards, made up of multiple fragile pieces, any of which could blow over at any moment.

 On another note, I can remember doing the below with a record player...sigh...

Just the opening chords, building softly, brought his face into sharp focus.  Then that one line that summed it all up, the crescendo.  She pressed repeat.

I would love to know what activity has the greatest amount of displacement activity attached to it, but writing must be in the top 10.  You start, full of good intentions, then spend a couple of hours drawing out a great spreadsheet showing who features in each chapter.  Then you start to write, but decide that before you put it down you had better check something.  So you do that and that leads onto the germ of another idea, which you think about for a while and, before you know it, the time you put aside for writing is gone.

Never mind, you say.  I shall be so much better prepared next time.

Hmm. As per the advert, rinse, repeat.  

‘I don’t procrastinate’, she thought, unloading the washing machine. ‘I don’t usually procrastinate’ she clarified, investigating 18th century fashions. ‘I don’t, eek, is that the time?’

A few years ago, I switched away from an electronic calender to a paper diary for my personal appointments.  And what a revelation - I've not gone back.  Entries do not vanish mysteriously and paper doesn't beep suddenly in embarrassing places.  Use of pencil and a rubber allows instant editing and no need to scroll through lots of pages to get to today.  I suppose the only thing that can come as a shock is to open a new week and find it a complete, white blank.  But, then the positive kicked in - a chance to rest, refresh and recharge.  And then, who knows where things can go...

The rain was continuous, a steady drip of grey, bleeding colour into the drains.  She sought colour as, feathers fluffed, a lone bird sought shrivelled berries.

Sometimes I wonder about people (actually I wonder about people a lot - I'm very nosy).  But sometimes I wonder about specific people and why they bother to stay together.  Some couples don't seem to like each other very much and seem to always focus on the other's faults rather than their good points, delighting in pointing them out to others.  

Yes, we have moved on with the complaints, and it is more likely to be about table manners than domestic violence, but even so, it puts a listener in a rather iniquitous position - do you agree and be seen to condemn someone or disagree on principle and accuse someone of lying.

In this particular case, I took the coward's way out and changed the subject.

I had to open a conversation. “So, how long have you been married?” “Forty years.  Still trying to improve him.” I wonder whether perfection is attainable.

Is this a record?  Forget spotting Creme Eggs before Christmas, I have seen a reference to Christmas 2013 already.  OK, it was quite sensible, being for a building society advertising a saving plan to start putting things aside for Christmas now.  

Given that I am normally someone who does plan, I wonder why Christmas does evoke such feelings of 'not yet' about it.  Is it because it feels more like the turn of a year than New Year does?  Or is it because of the fact we are supposed to have such a good time, we feel don't want to let anyone down by seeming less than ecstatic at the time, regardless of the consequences.  I saw a report that the number of divorces and bankruptcies jump in January - not a Happy New Year...

The December advertisements were still up, slightly weather-beaten, their gaudiness in contrast to the weather and her mood.  The meeting with the bank was this afternoon.

OK, now it's the 5th, we've all got over the whole 'new' thing for the new year.  Three days at work already, then Monday I can laugh at those people for whom it is the first day back.  As usual, the artificial milestone has come and gone, with no discernible changes.  Maybe it is because I'm getting older that each year seems less significant a milestone, but then you get something from next door that reminds you that a passing year can bring some more radical shifts.

“I hate you, hate you.” The reply was inaudible, a low murmur of sound through the wall.  I’m an unwilling listener to a child growing up.