COMMUTING
I always think on the train. In fact I think so much that sometimes I think about thinking. I think about how someone would make a scene of a film out of me thinking.The camera would zoom in on my iris and then past that into the imaginary world which consists of my thoughts. It’s an odd thing, isn’t it?Thinking about thinking, I mean. Because if you were to think about thinking and the thought you were thinking about having was itself about thinking, wouldn’t everything get bloody confusing? Can you trick yourself into thinking about thinking when really you’re thinking about not thinking? As I think about this, it starts to rain.There is a ping and the doors open - my stop - then I hear the infamous and formidable words, “Mind the gap between the train and the platform. Mind the gap.” I do so and get off to see Laura waiting for me as she always does. “Hello honey; how was work?” I never know what my wife really means by this question. She has always been devious, a snake in a dove’s nest. I need to be constantly alert when talking to her. It is a trick, surely, because work is, always and unchangingly, dull. “Oh, fine, you know, dear,” I respond, in an effort to be civil but without inducing a conversation on the technicalities of auditing. That’s what I do you see, I audit. I audit and I audit and funnily enough I believe I audit rather well, although it is hard to tell as auditing doesn’t really give room for excellence.We get in the car and drive home, in the rain. Next day, on the train, I realise I am doing that dangerous and inexcusable thing again, thinking. It is like someone is writing what I am thinking and I am just a bystander in the whole process. What a funny thought that is. Thinking of funny, monkeys are funny. Yes, monkeys swing about in the sunshine with their cute
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