The main thing

There was something eerily quiet about platform two when I arrived there a week last Tuesday – as if I’d appeared an hour too early and the world wasn’t quite ready to receive me in its normal, welcoming fashion. Over a thousand commuting days to my name, and this had never happened before. Change is such a shocking thing when it arrives in the context of stability.

What was Vic thinking? Of course it might just have been his traditional escape to Switzerland, but surely his team would have been left behind to hold the fort? And how were all my fellow travellers coping with this unexpected disruption?

A day later, and again I came down the stairs to be greeted by a strange emptiness. But this time I took a closer look: what I had naturally assumed was a poem adorning the door of the Runaway was actually a notice announcing, in plain, prosaic English, that redecoration was underway.

Now, a week on, and everything looks very much the same, as does Vic. Once again, the world receives me in its normal, welcoming fashion, and, once again, I get my tea when and how I like it. Which is, after all, the main thing.