Back to Work. One Year Ago.

Back to work.

The Metropolitan line.

You’re too old for this...

Around Harrow, images from La Dolce Vita swim through your mind. You watched it for the first time ever last night. Beautiful, cynical, poignant, and full of truth, great suits and Vespas. You wish the tube went to Rome in 1960.

You read a chapter of The Age Of Innocence, a Christmas present, trying to ignore the bloke opposite’s sniffing. You give up, have a look at Twitter, start reading an article about academic misconduct by nursing students. You sigh, then give that up too. You float aimlessly around Twitter a bit more, find yourself agreeing with Peter Hitchens. Again.

You arrive at the barriers at Uxbridge. A kid pushes through behind you, gets away without paying. Little git. You feel full, impotent, middle-aged fury, then let it go. He ain’t worth it, Kev...

You have a coffee, discover Mourinho’s been moaning about the weight of the ball in yesterday’s match. You decide it’s time to support someone else. Anyone.

You take a deep breath, find yourself thinking about the time you met Phil Lynott and he passed you a football.

You smile.

Back to work.