BUSY BRAIN

Someone asked Sammy how I was. She told them I was alright but that I had a ‘busy brain’ at the moment.

I imagine a railway station. There are always trains arriving and departing, there are tickets being sold, arguments taking place and conversations buzzing. There’s a man munching a sandwich next to a woman with a coffee, scrolling through her phone. There are suitcases, briefcases, travel packs, backpacks, rucksacks, wheelie cases and musical instruments strapped to the back of students. A tannoy announces something over the hubbub, screens flicker with updates, security men and police officers wander with hands clasped behind their backs, and children shout just to hear the noise it makes from the high metal roof. There are couples canoodling goodbyes and racing embraces for hellos, and a dozen tourists fixated by the departures boards trying to work it all out. Above it all, cooing and fluttering, there are pigeons who’ve nested between the Victorian red brick and the curved steel and glass. Up there, above the bustling heads and squealing trains of thought, there is a lot of empty space.

She’s right. That is my brain - not as clever as hers but doing its best to process everything. Trains come in, trains go out. Passengers get off, passengers get on. It works: it’s a system that keeps everybody moving, but it can be a terrifyingly busy place, where lots of things seem to happen very quickly and sometimes relentlessly.

And from the outside I suppose, it just looks like a lovely old building.