Diary of a Suspended Driver -of Yella Bellies and Sexual Preferences...

Diary of a Suspended Driver

Day Five

To the City

The line pulls taught; not gradually (Carp) not like a machine gun (Red Fin) not surging (Rainbow Trout) not to the bottom (Brown Trout) it is sudden and with violence (Yellow Belly or Cod) no Cod here so must be Yella. I grin and play the fish never know with these lures, how he is hooked…

I awake from my reverie look along the crowded Monday carriage already full and we are only at Riddell . Lot of people returning from the weekend?

The fishing was last week on the lake, what a blessed holiday  a week of peace and fishing…

The pensioner next to me complains of an allergy he only catches in Woodend as he sneezes, the suits opposite talk about little things and small victories. Another day in the office, a square world. Everything is square in our world, with corners and straight lines. I look out the window nothing is straight or square!

It is amazing how many commuters doze are they tired or seeking relief from what is a round them or their day to come? People are standing down the end of the carriage, a grey haired lady stands, no mercy in these conveniences, a young commuter drinks Red Bull artificial power for an artificial day?

We all stream down together to the big smoke so that we may provide the services for everyone else streaming down into the big smoke. Making it smokier as we do so.

The windows are streaked with rain, the sky is a mass of yellow light competing with swirling grey dirty clouds, terracotta tortoise shells bathe in its strange light.

One thing really stands out with commuters; females love pink and bright I phone covers and computer covers, males prefer black and tan!

What was in that Book Subliminal…? When talking about males and females, I fumble for it in the confines of ‘my space’.

Reproductive success in males is generally determined by competing with other males to mate with as many females as possible. Hence males rarely form strong social bonds and male coalitions are typically hierarchical with an emphasis on aggression rather than facilitative behaviour.

The female reproductive strategy is one of investing in the production of relatively few offspring…and success is determined by the quality of care and the ability to enable infant survival beyond weaning age. Females therefore form strong social bonds with their infants and female-female relationships are also strongly affiliative.

Leonard Mlodinow

Subliminal

The Revolution of the New Unconscious and what it teaches us about ourselves.

 

I look around yep I think he is right, nothing about I phones though. The train lurches and our spaces are not secure, the things one thinks about when commuting…

Return

The train station from where I start my journey is so functional, so ugly, so lifeless, it sucks the very karma out of your soul. But, there are many beautiful stations we pass through and alight on and they enhance your being, add to your salvation.

I look into the distance and the towers of the city thrust up in majesty reflecting the setting sun they look lovely from afar. What are they like to live in? My city is about six thousand spread over a grid of country blocks. There’s is a city bursting vertically straight up, stacked one on one, what is their amenity, what type of people will they produce?

Commuters as a group are not as obese as the general population I deduce. (Fifth day observation, has to be taken with some grain of salt)  Is it because of the walking they do to get to their platforms? Is it their age, (probably a younger profile at peak hour) Is it my imagination, (possible)Is it because obese people do not work? Or cannot get work in the city? One could do a study on such a hypopothese.

The bloke beside me is engrossed in a thick, thick book, his glasses are like coca cola bottles, his shoulders hunched, head bald, he turns the pages like he cannot wait. He cradles the volume like a lover caressing their first date, all else does not exist! I try not to exist for him, I make myself smaller, I am humbled by his complete disregard for all around him.

The book worm-perfect commuter.

Shafts of sunlight dance through the air catching the dust devils in their embrace and I nearly nod off. Home and hearth, love and family are not far distant.

PS It was a big Yellow Belly (41cm)

Day 6

To The City

Coffee is the key ingredient of a commuter’s life they cuddle it, savour it, sometimes they even drink it. One has to admire the fortitude of the coffee vendor at the Kyneton station, filling a need, a craving, a dependence, through all weathers.

Two students study the Dermis next to me bringing back memories of long ago anatomical studies. They have the same pre- exam look that I remember. Faces tense, hands clasping, defensive posture, low mutterings, furtive glances at notes. Ah the joy of study.

By Gisborne the train is full again, V Line we need another carriage or two.

The mist hugs the ground like fairy floss on a child's lips, low streaky clouds streak the horizon and the Autumn sky is steel blue.

What goes on in the minds of a commuter encased in his/her commuter cocoon, bound by the straight jacket of convention, imprisoned in the impersonal steel tube, hurtling toward a destination essential for survival.

Is that pretty mid age woman applying a brush…of that man at work?

There is a bloke doing embroidering… what colour will I use? (Yes it is true)

The students… I’ll never get through this exam?

The suit sleeping… why did I not take that promotion?

The worker…bloody boss I hate him?

The standing man….gee my feet hurt and my aching back?

The singlet runner…I feel great, look beautiful?

Who knows but a commuter body may be still, but his mind never is.

That lady take about twenty minutes to do her face…amazing! Her feet are sporting sneakers with no laces…huh…Has work shoes in bag!

It's  as  though commuters do not exist to other commuters they are kind of neutral or invisible.

Changeover.

The train to the burbs is delayed, the station platform changed, fifty commuters change position and board a train within two minutes. We could never get that co-ordination in the Army, amazing.

The train charges into the station the driver looks the age of my grandson, and half asleep at the wheel. Do they have dead mans sticks now?

A flycatcher snores opposite me, and slowly slumps down into the seat.

Return

The train is waiting on the station doors open, it almost seems welcoming. There are only a scattering of commuters on this train, worn tired, creased, damp, seamed and pale.

I slump into the seat, try to read can’t, try to radio can’t, try to write can’t. I vegetate luxuriating in doing nothing, being swept along by forces outside and not under my control.

A shrill voice interrupts my reverie:

‘Nicky is that you Nicky’

I slant backwards to view a fifties something lady well dresse’d , silver hair, horny glasses, sharp features. I Phone pressed relentlessly into her face.

I slump down into the seat, her voice follows me.

‘How did you know we were coming’?

I put an ear plug in ‘Future Tense’ great ABC show. I cannot concentrate.

The voice cuts my concentration into tiny, little  pieces.

‘We were only invited to the morning tea….yes really, I have been her friend for much longer then the Browns and they are going to the reception.’

This is a tragedy unfolding...

I inwardly groan, open my Kindle, but it’s no good.

‘Then she suggests a present on the invitation and Tom and I are spending $400.00 on airfares alone to get there and only a morning tea to show for it!’

I close my eyes.

‘She is my friend but she is a strange one that Alison.’

‘The McLeod’s are going, did you know they have bought a house in Kew’

‘The garden is huge I do not know how they will manage it’....

‘Part of that upward social set they are in, you know what they are like’

The conversation went on an on after a while I start to get interested in it, imagine what Nicki was saying, felt sorry for Alison and her marriage.

'I’m her friend….but!..’

The women got of trailing a line of wordage behind her, they littered the carriage like bloody daggers...

I think I am starting to see the same faces again and again; commuters are creatures of timing and habit.

I notice some commuters have little groups who save seats, and meet on the platform, talk about everything and nothing, share their space. The Fellowship of the Commute.

The sun is strong again today I don my sunglasses, Global Warming will be great for sunglass makers.

I catch the train home, unbelievable!

I am sitting next to the Book Worm again, same book, same stance, same situation. I smile at him he is to engrossed to notice.

The cool sweet  air of Kyneton  tingles my nose, livens my step and lifts my soul.

Young lovers meet and collapse into each other. Ah to be so young again with the sweet burst of new love and limitless expectations.

A mother holds her baby up for father to see…

Memories, oh sweet memories…

Day 7

To the City

A person I know hides behind a pole so she will not have to talk on the journey down. She has turned into a commuter, I appreciate that rationale.

Because the trains run mostly north -south the stations lie mainly east-west. This means they are exposed to the prevailing cold south-west winds in the winter. No wonder commuters are a tough lot.

Conductors are made up of all types, this morning’s one is the friendly she’ll be right type. No checking tickets or any thing like that. The station announcements come over in a slow drawl.

A girls I Phone makes a quack, quack, amazing …I had ducks and geese once in Maryborough messy animals. But one of the geese adopted me and guarded my person from all comers. Maureen's brother could not get out of the car one day. Foxes got them, one of them they lured them through a fence and then bit of his head, but normally they just left a pile of feathers.

I make the mistake of making eye contact with the lady sitting down opposite, she is embarrassed. I curse myself for being human and not a commuter.

Friday train is less crowded, ADO’s, sick days, long weekend?

Amazing changeover in the city to suburbia off one train onto another.

A school girl flirts with a school boy. I watch their gestures and reactions: Typical standard stuff amazing really how similar flirting gestures are: I look up Daughters:

From Daughters….

Have you ever noticed how women flirt?  Women’s flirtatious movements are basically the same all over the world so are most probably evolved evolutionary traits. It goes something like this: First the woman smiles and lifts her eyebrows in a swift, jerky motion as she opens her eyes wide to gaze at the male.  She drops her eyelids, tilts her head down and to the side, and looks away. Frequently she also covers her face with her hands, giggling nervously as she retreats behind her palms. These flirting gestures are distinctive, instinctive and are indicative of the females’ sexual interest in the male.

Yes a typical flirtatious exercise, what wonderful creatures we are. That boy is lucky!

Trains in Melbourne are generally clean, amazing when you consider the number of people that use them.

Some stations on the other hand are not clean, specifically the approaches.

Return

The burbs train is filling up with "Friday people" parties, dinner, movies or play tupe people. They are fresh, excited and animated. The "normal" commuter worker type is like a napkin after a big meal. Creased, stained and crumpled.

At the changover station they hand out this free newspaper (no one would buy it in their right mind) but most people take it, some even read it.
They always have:     A celibrity doing something whacky.
                                     A sensational story of Aliens or man eats dog or something.
                                     A scandal.
                                     Big Pictures.
                                     Stories no longer then 500 words.
                                     Sport story.
                                     Weather.

Seventy percent of commuters are wired into something. No wonder the communication and IT companies are red hot.

An over protective father keeps an eye on his teenage daughters, warning them not to get out of their seats or talk to anybody. I look around the carriage Bendigo commuters are a dangerous , depraved lot I suppose.

I dive into more editing of Daughters...The sweat in writing a book is in the detail, after that first creative urge sweeps you along into  creating an avalanche of words in a frenzy of activity. Then comes the nit picking, gritty, clinical, tedious crunch of rewriting and editing. It helps to be a little bit of centre when you are doing this, commuting definetly helps.

My eldest daughter Alison gave me a Donegal Tweed as a gift from when she was in Ireland. I need it now as I walk into the valley of Kyneton.

The thought of Friday fish and chips speeds me onto home.


Note; Daughters is the book I am currently working on…

PS A Fly Catcher is a person asleep with his mouth open.

 

Yella belly or Golden Perch native of Australian waters.