I had a dreadful dream about cannibalism in the night. It made me feel quite ill and I lay there feeling queasy. Maybe it was the movement of the train. We’ve been on it 26 hours so far, almost halfway. Frantic music woke us again this morning at 6am sharp, and we steeled ourselves for the necessary visit to the toilet, the worst part of each day. It is utterly foul. No one on this train seems to know how to aim for the hole.
As we rattled along eating biscuits, lying on our bunks across from each other, we talked about this and that. We used to talk about all sorts of things after making love, but bunks on a train are not conductive to that sort of physical activity so we tend to talk less about plans and ideas. We have avoided all talk about Hamish’s plans to go to Germany to study. I know it’s immature but I also figure if I ignore it, then it will just go away and not happen. I’ve avoided the topic for a week now and our relationship has been really fine, wonderful, really wonderful, fun and tender. I’ve almost convinced myself it really was all just talk. Hamish was telling me more about his childhood, when I was startled at one point.
“Wait, you were an ‘ink monitor’? Was this 1972 or 1872? When I was a child we used ball point pens. And I’m older than you!”
“Well, this is Scotland I’m talking about, what do you expect?”
“You’re just playing up this 'Britain is like a third world country' thing aren’t you?”
“Well, people still burn coal in their fireplaces.“
“Yeah, yeah, and there was rationing right through the 50s. I know, I know.”
“And people toast muffins over that same coal.”
“No thank you.”
“Oh couldn’t you just fancy a chip butty right now?”
“I’ve heard of chip butties but I’ve never had one. Exactly what is it comprised of?”
“Big, deep-fried potato chips, butter, white bread.“
“I think I can hear my arteries screaming in agony. Are you going to tell me next that for Christmas you only got a quill pen and a tangerine?”
“I save those stories for telling young children round the fire on Christmas Eve.”
“So you’re the boring old man I've heard about. Good thing children generally have short attention spans. Is there anything about the Scotland of your childhood that isn’t about lard and coal dust and misery?”
Hamish thought a moment before answering. “Well, all the good things are.”
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