Yesterday, on the train home from the City:

A man, mid thirties. He's with his mother (early sixties, long grey pony-tail, sensible shoes) and his son (about two, in a stroller).
The mother gets off at Central, kisses the child numerous times on the head "Grandma'll see you soon baby, love you sweetie"
He stays on the train until Penshurst. I'm watching him, surreptitiously, over the top of '1599: A Year in the life of William Shakespeare'*.

He has really big hands. And red striped Adidas sneakers.

He's wearing a t-shirt that proclaims 'A kiss is just a kiss. Whiplash lasts until morning' with a little SM Pride logo in the corner.

He has multiple piercings, a patchy crew cut, and is carrying a Black&Gold lemon cordial bottle filled with water.

I am in awe of the man as he treats his son with such gentle tenderness. It is beautiful, the smiles passing between the two of them so true, so touching. The pleasure he takes in his son's diddling his fingers in the cup of water being offered. On a train. For 30 minutes. His patience is humbling.

The stroller is brand new. The child is immaculately dressed.

I would LOVE to know the story. I want to ask him everything about his life. I want to KNOW. I am fascinated.

My own daughters are babbling with excitement. They still haven't stopped talking. Miss H is reading her Archibald's book. Miss M is trying to distract her.

I'm just watching The Man on the other side of the carriage.



People amaze me. He is just who he is. Any other time, any other place, he could be judged as a total loser.








To me he was Hope.










* Wanker title, but an amazing book. Highly recommended.