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Sitting at King’s Cross railway station

Franchise cafe, ticket for my destination;

Waiting for night sleeper to homely Perth,

Seat and sleeper place booked, my berth.

Into the carriage ambles a genial old man

With ill-fitting specs, 2-day stubble, suntan.

He unpacks his laptop onto the table;

Taps away on his research paper “Stable

Monetary Policy”. Rolling up shirt sleeves -

Wartime tattoo belies his academic image.

Train on time, past Finsbury Park mosque,

North London suburbs, then to Stevenage.

After Stevenage, he shuts down his laptop, dark

Blue, reads a sci-fi novel by Arthur C Clarke.

Overheated train carriage, lack of ventilation,

Perspiration runs down his face. My medication-

Influenced travel sickness nausea;

Hour in, train stops at Peterborough.

Friendly looking, laughter-lined elderly

Lady gets in seat opposite vacated by

The genial academic with regimental tattoo -

Noting I look hot/bothered, “how are you?”

Followed by spontaneous laying on of hands/

Reiki session to wash away cares; demands

Of the day forgotten, we discuss Libyan turmoil,

Issues of the day; lunch – spaghetti in olive oil.