Onebrow

You’ve been in Perth too long. “Due to a fatality at a level crossing, the line has been closed at Stirling,” says the conductor. You sit and wait for instructions. “The line will be closed for up to eight hours, please wait while we organise alternative transport”, half an hour goes by as you sit and wait and wonder. “The line has opened” comes the good news and the train starts to leave the station. The train stops. You arrive back in Perth to be told to get off the train and go to platform six. You find yourself on a train to Edinburgh. You’re trying to keep Laura informed, you’ve told her to find a way to Glasgow. You can only imagine how confusing the stream of messages is. 

All of a sudden you find yourself in your hometown, it’s eight and you wanted to be in Glasgow by now. Instead you’re 45 miles south of your starting point, some 30 miles south east of your previous station. It’s 30 minutes to Edinburgh and another hour to Glasgow, your heart sinks and you wish you’d just gone home.

When you switch trains in Edinburgh, you’re informed by the conductor that the track has re-opened at Stirling. You curse your luck and sit there stewing away. Still, you are not outwardly agrieved like most others. You accept your fate. “You get a few of these at this time of year,” says the conductor. “It gets near Christmas and people…” he trails off. He has no way of knowing its suicide, nor does anybody else. You suspect he’s right nonetheless.

You arrive in Glasgow and you’re angry. Angry because its taken over three and a half hours to make a journey that’s an hour and a half. Angry because you don’t like missing support acts. Guilty because you know you’re angry because somebody lost their life. 

You reach your gig, you’ve not missed the main acts. You sink a pint to make you feel better. It doesn’t. You have another anyway, hoping this time it might make a difference. Your singer cheers you up. You’re about to tell the idiot in the second row to shut up. “Shut up and show some respect,” you think to yourself. He leaves just as you pluck up the courage to do something. You get your book signed by your singer. He’s a long way from home and you know this cheered him up. 

The main act comes on and you forget all about your earlier woes. They work their magic, make you feel like this moment is all that matters. They laugh and smile and play and you listen and sing.

One life. Three and a half hours. Two acts. You go home and there are no problems now.