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I sat in the corner listening to the clean version of To Pimp a Butterfly on the Virgin train, returning to base from a draining but ultimately rewarding London trip.

[By the way the London trip was really brief. In case you live in London and are wondering why your favourite narrator – me, that’s who – did not ring you (or your ex-girlfriend for that matter)]. The trip hurt my wallet as well. No, really. What with shop after exclusive shop within inches of each other and the rather annoying 50p charge to urinate. A 50p pee fee to have a little leak was a piss-take, quite literally. In all, I must have spent a little fortune just squeezing water out of my 3^rd leg and my annoyance was further compounded by the fact that half of Londoners have no clue what a urinal is. I thought these were predominantly English people? No? I remembered to ask about a “loo” just in time on one occasion or I would’ve wet myself. I swear it was a 20p charge back when I lived there. Oh wait, that must be a while ago.

Anyway, only one other person was in the same cabin as me on the train and he looked like the long-lost brother of the long-lost enigmatic African musician Ata Kak. (It’s Google or YouTube time for you if you don’t know who the great Ata Kak is). I glanced at him, not absent-mindedly, but with the same dispassionate attention with which I observe most things and then fixed my gaze on the old newspaper on my lap. He seemed fidgety and I could tell, through my peripheral vision that he was looking at me rather hesitantly. Perhaps, I reminded him of someone as well. I assumed he was harmless but he was making me nervous nonetheless.

I was fatigued. My eyes were yielding to the power of sleep and I resisted half-heartedly. I increased the volume on the headphones and flipped the newspaper pages even more with renewed vigour to battle the sleepiness. Talk about an exercise in futility. Eventually, I found myself in that state of semi-consciousness. In the distance, I could hear the announcement on the train which had morphed with the lyrics of “Momma” the song that was playing in my headphones at the time. Then there was a cacophony of other unidentifiable sounds all playing somewhere on my mind. I could see trains moving in slow motion.

Next thing I knew, D had picked me up from the station. That was when I felt a slight chill which was followed almost immediately by immense warmth. I pulled what I assumed was my duvet tighter around me. It felt like a weekend – the only days of the week when my alarm is not set for 06:20AM. But suddenly, I felt a shadow over me. A shadow belonging to someone who was willing me to reach out – just like my daughter does on weekends. Ah my daughter! I missed her. I consciously moved my hand towards this person but something within me inexplicably caused me to open my eyes. I woke up startled. Why? Because lo and behold, standing right in front of me, in the bloody Virgin train, with a diabolic, self-satisfied smile on his face, was Ata Kak’s brother or cousin or whoever the hell he was…

End of part 1

To be continued