Bad Omens

1. Missed train home last week.
2. Got blisters from new boots.
3. Paid for wrong sort of underground ticket.
4. Lost credit card, subsequently stolen.
5. Runny nose.
6. Runny eyes.
7. Pissed of Church of Scientology.
8. Didn´t sleep well on trains.
9. Got the wrong time for Eurostar.
10. Left lucky toad foot at home.
11. Broke mirror.
12. Walked under a ladder shop.
13. Ran over black cat.

And I can only think of thirteen. That´s another bad omen.

Paul Theroux starts his Great Railway Bazaar by saying: "Ever since childhood, when I lived within earshot of the Boston and Maine, I have seldom heard a train go by and not wished I was on it." He ends the trip feeling slightly less positive, having dipped even lower at times in the middle. I´m starting on a negative note and hoping that´ll I will end up an optimist. The week in the run up to this trip has been if not a catalogue of horrors, then at least an impressive hobbyist´s collection of minor terrors. None of them have boded well. Thankfully, I am not one to dwell on bodings, fore or aft, and now I´ve shared them I will worry no more.

The fact is, if I get to the end of the trip without being arrested, my balls stay similarly sized and my sleeping bag remains unsullied I will be over the moon.