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Terminus

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Last 7.40AM dart from Salthill to Kilbarrack.

Over the past five years, Luca and I have:

– travelled thousands of miles in varying degrees of overcrowdedness
– received new strains of the lurgy from half of our co-commuters
– and passed it on to the other half
– inhaled dozens of farts
– produced a few (mostly Luca – and me the morning after a Big Nose Club meeting)
– paid scary amounts of money for the privilege of travelling on the most-expensive-per-mile commuter train in Europe (I was particularly delighted that time when the price of my weekly ticket increased by 29% in one go)
– had three altercations. Well me. There was the “we’ll-have-a-vote-and-see-if-the-others-want-the-window-open-oh-see-no-they-don’t-either” stand-off. There was the “I-value-the-comfort-of-my-arse-more-than-the-well-being-of-your-designer-handbag” episode. And there was the “have-a-kleenex-no-i-insist-cause-if-you-loudly-snort-your-nasal-phlegm-one-more-time-i’ll-headbutt-you” row.
–  also had dozens of laughs and met some of the friendliest commuters in the world (by commuting standards)

And I will miss all of this.

At least I got a 75 page photobook out of it, to remember the good old days.

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