Random notes from today's train ride to Norwich

On the train to Norwich. At Stratford, I wandered around, pressing my Oyster card against any Oyster presser thing, but getting no reaction, and at last wandered up to platform 10a where the train to Norwich was about to depart, but I didn’t have a ticket, nor were there any ticket machines. A lady train worker poked her head out of the last door of the train, but the second she saw me, she disappeared and when I got to the door a few seconds later, there was no trace of her. If she’d been a cat, I’d have whistled and thrown some fresh fish at her (assuming I had some in my purse).
Anyway, I gave up on that train and went back down, where a male train worker made the mistake of giving me a second glance, so I asked him where can I buy a ticket to Norwich? He said, platform 8. I went up some stairs to platform 8, where I saw my Norwich train pull away from afar, and I wandered the entire length of the platform, until I found the sole ticket machine at the very far end.
I tried to entered Norwich as my destination, but only got as far as “N” since the touch screen wouldn’t accept “O”. I kept hitting the “O”, until I gave up and then found the down arrow, which was especially smudgy, so I could tell a lot of people like me only started using it after getting really angry with the “O”.
So I scrolled through all the N options until I got to the most expensive one, Norwich — over £50 for a standard off-peak fare. I about decided to just give up on Norwich, since I wouldn’t get there until 2:30 PM — the next train was in an hour. But then, I decided, I’ve been yammering on about Norwich for ages now, so I best just go see it and then get home in time for Eurovision.
The scenery is worth — well, not £50, especially as I’m sitting backwards, but it’s very pretty. Undulating green meadows and all that. In the last town, there were nothing but brown brick houses, all identical, except for one, the top of which was painted pink. About ten houses down, another brown house had pink curtains. So, maybe it was like a mutation and the pink curtain house only got one copy of it.
No more undulating — the landscape here is flat. Whenever I used to be somewhere flat, I got depressed, because it reminded me of Illinois, but now it reminds me of the Netherlands, which makes me feel well-traveled.
Those yokels should either be quiet or at least speak in turn, so I can understand what they’re saying. Now they’re just making weird, football fan type noises and laughing.
Haha. We’re in Diss now.
The man sitting a couple rows down — I can see him through the seats when I lean to the right — looks like an actor from that Endeavour show, the one who plays Endeavour’s boss. He’s paging through a newspaper. I’ve leaned over a couple times and assumed a thoughtful expression, but he’s as interested as that lady train driver.
Now he’s picking his ear and looking at his finger, so I’m not going to lean over anymore.