Three Minutes of Your Life You Won't Get Back

I was sitting on the train writing in my commonplace book when I noticed somebody reading over my shoulder. He wasn't being subtle about it either, he was openly gawking as though he had never seen anybody use a pen before. Since he looked about twenty it's possible he hadn't. I tend to do a lot of shoulder reading myself but I do try to be subtle about it which makes me furtive as well as intrusive. This is of great benefit to the person whose reading material I have usurped as it allows them to feel morally superior. My shoulder reader was so enthusiastic I felt bad about being annoyed. If it happens again I'll start writing vilely obscene and sexually explicit passages and see what kind of a reaction that elicits. Although it is entirely possible the reaction will be even less welcome.

The prevalence of shoulder reading started me thinking. This is usually a bad idea as thinking is not something I do particularly well. I start to think and then wander off on irrelevant tangents that get me further and further away from the original topic. Not to put too fine a point on it; it is very easy to derail my train of thought. So easy in fact that I am even worse at train management than City Rail.

Not much though, the better part of this entry was written while standing on Circular Quay railway station waiting for a train which was, in the immortal phrase, "running late and out of timetable order". Apparently this was due to a fatality at Beverly Hills. Beverly Hills isn't even on my train line but "running late and out of timetable order" (copyright City Rail) is a gregarious beast and likes to spread itself around.

The lateness of my train irritated me for two main reasons; firstly I was at Circular Quay railway station a place whose appeal largely lies in the arrival of trains that will take you away from it. Secondly running late made me disinclined to stop off on the way home and do some shopping. This means that dinner tonight will be whatever I can scrape off the inside of the fridge. Since that was last nights dinner as well scrapings are getting rather lean.

Food and eating annoy me; there must be a better way of refuelling the body. I wonder if scientists have taken a close enough look at photosynthesis. Food shortages would be a thing of the past and think how cheap dating would be when going for dinner simply meant standing outside for five minutes. And I'm sure we'll get used to being green.

In point of fact the only food in my house is half a grapefruit, a rasher of time expired bacon and a fourteen day supply of catfood. The food supply for my cat is better organised than my own which is strange when you consider that I am responsible for both. In return for food the cat sheds on the rug, vomits on the floor and wakes me at three in the morning for more food. I put up with all of this because the cat is company. As long as the food holds out I have a friendly companion to share the flat with. If the food does run out the cat will probably eat me.

Pets are great company, particularly if you don't know (or choose not to associate with) many humans. Social contact of one sort or another seems to be important to Australians. Apparently social networking websites are booming in Oz. I know this because I read it in a newspaper. Over somebody else's shoulder.