On the 7.45 from London Waterloo..I’m writing in my journal, reflecting on the all too rare, bitter-sweet experience of travelling with my prickly offspring. She peels her sullen gaze away from her mobile screen and turns to me..
Daughter: Don’t leave me your diary when you die unless there are blank pages in it. I can always use paper.
Daughter: It’s calm, like the town. However, I’d rather not engage with yet another overly friendly, smiling individual in a purple T-shirt handing out what seems to be an endless supply of ice poles.