It is entirely possible that you don’t need to read this entry. If you are the sort of person who can generally be relied upon to work out content from a title then you can save yourself some time and head off now. Mind you, even if you are not the sort of person who can generally be relied upon to work out content from a title then you probably can do so on this occasion. What I’m saying is, you don’t need to waste your time here because it’s pretty much self-explanatory. There was dancing. There was more dancing. Then there was a thud. At the time of the thud you’ll note the dancing was no longer happening. Then there’s nothing more after that. Really, you don’t need to read any further. Doing so will only increase my humiliation and embarrassment at the whole thing.
So now I’ll continue writing safe in the knowledge that nobody is reading. Sometimes it’s therapeutic to write, don’t you think? Oh, I forgot, there’s nobody there to answer. Well I sometimes find it therapeutic to write. Even if there’s nobody reading. Which there isn’t. But writing is good.
Something else I enjoy is dancing. It is entirely possible that I’m the only person in the cosmos who enjoys my dancing because I suspect I’m not all that good at it. It sometimes happens that I pretend to be a zombie. And other times I start dancing. Then I stop in shame and bewilderment that there is precious little difference between the two. But that’s not important here. What’s important is that I like doing it.
Sometimes I combine the things I like. Sometimes that works out well like shortbread and cream cheese. Sometimes it works out badly like fruit juice and toothpaste. But there are other times too. Times where it starts out fine and then all of a sudden goes badly wrong. Like coffee. Delicious coffee. Just the thing to wake up your bleary self in the morning until the point you absentmindedly select the wrong carton from the fridge and top it off with orange juice.
One such pairing which results in deferred-yet-inevitably-awful-= consequences is dancing while driving a train. It always seemed like such an innocently joyous behaviour. There’d I’d be, trundling along and I’d realise I was bored or sleepy or ecstatically happy or something. So I’d get up and dance for a bit. Life was so simple then.
The dancing wasn’t simple. The dancing was damn tricky but I would keep at it because it was so much fun. So I’d dance despite the complete lack of room and the fact I was on a moving vehicle traversing some incredibly rough track. Despite having to keep a sharp eye out for signals, stations and other trains because GOD FORBID that anybody should see me leaping about like a nutter while in charge of a train or that I’d have to accurately relate what the hell I was doing when I danced my way through a danger signal, onto adverse points and a derailment. Despite my complete inability to use one of my arms because I had to keep the deadman held down. There was no waving in the air like I just didn’t care because if I did that then the entire operation would come crashing to a rather unseemly halt. No, the dancing was not easy or even good but I perservered.
Until a few weeks ago. A few weeks ago I was entering a tunnel and decided to have a dance. Yay, it’s dark, nobody can see me and if anyone in the first car enquires I can pass off the arhythmic thuds of my feet hitting the floor as “train noises”. It’s not like drivers don’t sometimes jump up and down anyway…sometimes the incredibly rough track is an advantage because I’ll be there jumping up and down and all of a sudden the train lurches at just the right moment and I’m pogoing maniacally. Seriously good fun.
But this time it wasn’t so much fun. I was dancing away and somehow found myself to be on one leg. This was in no way intentional. It just sort of happened. Likely I wouldn’t even have registered that I’d been on one leg had the train not reached some rough track and taken a sharp lurch to the right. My unorthodox stance on driving trains led to my overbalancing and taking an equally sharp lurch to the left. I would just like to underline here how proud I am that in spite of my wildly flailing limbs I at no point let go of the deadman. No. I took it with me. As I fell to the left at an angle my right arm rose and with it came the handle to a great accompaniment of airloss and brake application. Happily this did not last long as I almost immediately collided with the cab window and bounced back upright.
Once I had collected my thoughts I set the train in motion again. Then tried to look casual as though I had meant to do that. Then remembered that I was alone in a dark cupboard. Then felt my face go red even though nobody had apparently noticed. There are very few occasions when a person is all alone and finds themselves blushing and in general I find it is best not to talk about them. Which is why I’m really glad you people are all the sort of people who can generally be relied upon to work out content from a title and read no further.