Home Sweet Home

It was all very glamorous: looking out over the city, drinking cocktails and watching the pretentious people milling around in their D&G boots and A&F boxer shorts and wishing I were them; ordering room service and complaining that the blue cheese dressing was spread too thin; and spending vicarious amounts of money on things that we just didn’t need. I sat on the train home contemplating how grateful I was that going away to do an exam turned into such an enjoyable trip.

I was day dreaming of those thoughts and flicking through Attitude magazine, turning my head this way and that, examining the each and every nook and cranny of the abs on the 6’5 male models when it occurred to me: I had been paying no attention to the time or where we were.



I looked out of the window. “Lee…” I said slowly examining the empty train and our whereabouts. “Where exactly are we?” The train slowed, we were approaching some unfamiliar desolate landscape; undesirables with shaven heads and cans of cider idled around seemless amounts of broken glass and upside down shopping trolleys. “I think we missed our stop. Look at this place, where the hell are we?” I said under my voice, not wanting to alert any passengers that I was in the first stages of panic. “We’ll just get off and go back in the other direction; at the next stop.” I noticed a questionable looking thong lying on the train tracks. “Jesus. Seriously, where are we?” I craned my neck, stretching, trying to read the blue and white sign in the distance.
Oh, I thought, Derby. Home sweet home, I guess.