The Mister

The day begins innocently enough on the 5.40 am Cross Country service from Newcastle to Glasgow Central. I'm on my way from Birmingham to Glasgow and my ex (and one of my bestest friends- I know, that doesn't happen often) joins me at Newcastle Central. We'll just call him The Mister.

The train leaves a bustling station silenced my sleepiness; there's a competitive rush for the 'Quiet' coach.

The first hour goes in gossiping excitedly between large gulps of extra strong cappuccino. Soon, England's manicured lawns turn into the vast wilderness of Scotland's farms. A breath of fresh air (although we don't actually get a real breath of Scotland's untamed fresh air until we get to Edinburgh Waverly- which is hardly untamed!).

We reflect briefly on the flimsy, foot-high fences that surround some properties- fences, we decide, are an act of truth. They're not really going to (physically, by virtue of their strength or size) stop people from trespassing, but they rely on the truth that people will not breach boundaries that belong to other people (even though they can).

Speaking of boundaries, The Mister and I have none. After 4 years of full blown romance and a (pretty sudden) move back to being best friends, there are no boundaries that separate us. And so the inevitable question (stemming largely from the fact that we've talked about it off and on for awhile and neither of us has dated anyone else seriously for the last year- since we split up): what do you think of getting back together? Half laughing, we talk about the potential magnificence and disasters might occur.

Outside, the sun's coming up, slowly flooding the sky in a bright pink oranginess. What better time for a new beginning than in a train at sunrise pulling into Central Station, at the start of a weekend break
I tell him
Lets give it another day.