There and back again

The way there

The train pulls into Crystal Palace. It's a longer stay than is necessary and after a few minutes I begin to get bored. Looking up from my book and I stare out of the window at... a badger? Lying on a small grassy section between the tracks is a full size badger, flat out on it's back, a paw on it's chest and one raised to its head. It takes me a while to realise it's dead rather than snoozing, as it doesn't have a mark on it. Looks like old age, or perhaps he caught a badger anerism caused by a train running on time. Perhaps he just got bored of being a badger. I always felt Kenneth Grahame glamourised the life a little.

The way back

I'm reading the book alluded to earlier. I'm definitely reading it. It's Henry Nouwen's Reaching Out, a friend lent it to me and it's so good, the best. So I'm reading it, definitely, definitely reading it; I'm trying to underline the point here that I am 100% sure I was reading the book, and 100% sure it was on the train. So anyway, I daydream for a bit and when it comes to my stop I look down and I'M NO LONGER HOLDING THE BOOK!!! It's vanished. Seriously, just vanished. I definitely had it, and it's definitely vanished. I check the sides, under the seat, over the seat. Nowhere to be seen. This is like the bath plug again, but without the solution. I stagger off the train into the soggy air. That book held a key for me, so now I'm lost. The only possible explanation I have is that the guy next to me stole the book from my lap. Weird but possibly true? Only one man knows, and hopefully he'll be a little more enlightened by now, so might return it.