PEOPLE-WATCHING – WHILE THE TRAIN TAKES THE STRAIN

I’m on the Edinburgh train and it’s a poor show weather-wise. Having optimistically dressed for summer, it’s sadly dull and grey. I have bonnie hair for once, having had it done yesterday, therefore it is drizzly. If only I had a zippy little hand-held device to provide the weather forecast and allow me to dress appropriately.

Apparently my 48th year isn’t the one bringing forethought, organisation and common sense with it either.

I love a train trip. It might be my preferred form of travel nowadays – even though, since I was 17, I’ve loved driving.

There is something gloriously indulgent about watching Scotland zip past through the window, relaxed because someone else is driving. I can get up, stretch my legs or even nap if I choose! What joy.

Train travel also lets me indulge in another passion, people-watching. Hardly a pastime to see me nominated for a Nobel Prize but one I enjoy immensely – 20 strangers now have an elaborate back story they know nothing about and, surely, with all my recent travels, I’ll have got it right at least once?

I smiled at a lovely elderly couple and offered to help with their luggage. They didn’t immediately recoil in horror, but politely declined and said they would manage.

Which, in hindsight, is probably just as well seeing as the station steps nearly finished me off – thanks, chemo fatigue – and the fact I’m on my way to a specialist clinic in Edinburgh for a pesky shoulder issue. What am I thinking, offering to lift suitcases?

Meanwhile, I’ve convinced myself they’re mules for a South American drugs cartel and the cheery lady’s kind demeanour is a front for some evil organisation.

Sitting diagonally behind me now, I wonder if this is to make sure I don’t make off with the thousands of pounds worth of top grade class A drugs in their pretty ribbon-tied Samsonites.

There’s a chap in a suit mansplaining everything to his companion. In my head, she’s actually the boss lady, having gained top awards at uni, completed a masters and is now ruling the executive world.

Another young lass is documenting everything on her phone, no doubt for some witty chat on her preferred social media platform. I can’t think what’s attractive about the inside of a Scotrail carriage, but I’m hardly her target demographic.

The cheery lady sitting diagonally opposite me is half-hidden by her laptop. I wonder if we didn’t have all these devices constantly in use, would we engage in conversation to pass the time instead?

As she writes a list in a notebook titled “things to do today”, I believe this confirms my suspicion we would be great friends in real life.

An aged surfer boy is getting on the train at this station. Who knew there were surfer boys in Burntisland?

Instead of comparing him to the delicious Patrick Swayze in Point Break, I now sit fretting his Croc-clad feet must be both frozen and damp on this miserable May morning. Another sign of my age right there.

This frivolous pastime also makes me wonder if anyone else is partaking – and what they’d make of me?

I’ll provide a quick sum-up. I’m weird and I make no apologies for acting weird as it will happen again.

I’m a “dogtrovert” who prefers spending more time with dogs than people – just check my social media algorithms – they all believe all I care about is dogs.

When I drive in the rain I look at other cars to check my windscreen wipers are on the same speed, in case I’m being overly dramatic.

Every time I see my husband doing the outdoor jobs I don’t want to do, I can feel the feminism leaving my body in droves.

I’ve wasted half my life spelling my name to folk. I used to be a little crazy but now all I want is a bit of peace and quiet, and I simply HAVE to be in someone’s top five funniest people.

When I struggle to choose between two books, I buy seven. I’m sitting listening to Phil Collins telling me I can’t hurry love.

Hardly the next James Bond, now, am I?

Mary-Jane finds rail travel can be ‘gloriously indulgent’.