It comes to something when missing a train feels like a treat. Earlier on the week, I missed my train by under a minute. I hit the platform just as the train started moving. Too late. It was bad luck, sure, caught on the hop by the level crossing being shut, the parking machine being out of order, and one of the ticket collection machines being down. Too much bad luck for one journey to stand.
I live far enough into the sticks that my next useful train was 30 minutes away, so I did what I always do when things throw me off in Shoreham – I went for a coffee and toast in a local café. As before, I picked Hector's Shed.
Toast. Coffee. And half an hour to sit reading. I don't do that enough. Since I switched to a freelance consultancy career, I've struggled with the urge that I should be doing something to further my career at all times – and I mean doing. Reflecting, thinking and reading never seem to be active enough, and so they fall by the wayside. This has just got worse since Hazel was born, and the remainder of my free time was eaten alive by the bumdle of cuteness that is my daughter.
But an accident, an unseen confluence of inconvenience, gave me premission to chill. And chill I did, with coffee, and toast, and some reading on my iPad. A simple pleasure, but right now life is teaching me that simple pleasures are often the best.