THE FALLING B

… ought to be. I don’t feel bold. I feel as though the b fell off the bold like an autumn leaf.

The trains were messy yesterday. At Paddington, where crowds of people were about to squeeze their way onto the Elizabeth Line, I stood there scanning the board for the next train going my way.

Trespassers on the line, apparently. No trains. I hoped it wasn’t kids, but then I suppose I hoped it wasn’t anybody - I can’t imagine too many reasons why people would trespass on railway tracks. Anyway, I was in the crowd of commuters.

I’ve never been in a pressing crowd before. As the doors of the only viable train slid open, it felt as though an invisible hand was pushing me forwards. I could have lifted my feet from the floor and let the current take me, rucksack wedged into someone’s overcoat, elbows squeezed against someone else’s back. It was quite frightening actually.

Before long I was on the train - to be fair, my only goal at that point - clinging to a pole with the tips of my fingers. The train ground its way through the twilight tunnel and then out to the night-time world of dark shapes and track.

I’m tired. Weary, I suppose. It took another two and a half hours to get home. When I finally got off the bus at 8pm, it was raining - raining in that soggy way that only autumn knows. Inky puddles, cold rain and yes, yellow leaves that spin and tumble and float and squelch.

There really ought to be more boldness, more bravery, less caring about what anyone thinks. There should be a caution-to-the-wind carelessness, yellow and red and purple and orange. I didn’t feel it. I just felt exhausted last night - tonight too, as it goes. Perhaps sleep will help. Perhaps. Falling on the October breeze above a deep, dark puddle as the rain pockmarks the pavement and the street lamps shimmer.