That’s another year gone and, against the odds, I’m still here

A fruity voice on the train’s announcement system said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, make sure you have all your belongings, family members and what have you with you when alighting from the train. We are now arriving in the naughty little station of Newton Abbot.’ This carriage was empty. The Teign estuary sparkled in the Sunday morning sunshine. The line from Totnes in Devon to Paddington is a lovely journey at any time of the year across the farms and pastures green of Devon, Somerset, Wiltshire and Berkshire. Always I have good intentions to read, but usually I rest my chin on the heel of my palm and look out of the window for the entire journey, giving leisurely thought to non-urgent matters, or fantasising, or simply letting the passing English countryside speak to its most fervent admirer. Having said my sad goodbyes in the station car park, while my grandson spray-spewed all over the back seat of my son’s car, I was in that meditative frame of mind now.