I’ll be buying another MetroCard tomorrow. May as well continue it until the end of term. I seem to get home in a better mood after a journey of trains, walking and buses than I do after operating a car. Cars take more concentration and carry more responsibility. The only place I really like driving is where my mum lives in Northern Scotland. You just point and steer and you may not meet either a roundabout or a set of lights on a fifty mile stretch of road. Some of that to come this summer.
Serious thought has been given to whether I can carry it on in the Autumn. The shape of the week next term looks OK from this side of the summer break. Ironically the time to take the car might be during the threat of snow. This country’s rail infrastructure flexes to the point of snapping at even a suggestion of that pernicious white stuff. I guess a lot depends on whether I feel I’ll be doing significant stuff in the evenings. Teachers are supposed to that. In reality they’re often too tired. I can always work on one of the two trains, or both of them. I can always read two nineteenth century novels before breakfast, and write ten thousand words before I set off in the morning. I can always run to the station wearing a rucksack full of bricks, and have an ideal body (whose ideal?) by the time I get to work. Today I need to find a dark corner and chain myself to some reports.