we're sorry for the delay

We are sorry to announce that the 7:15 train to... London King's Cross... is delayed until approximately... 8:00... due to a signal failure. We are sorry for the inconvenience caused.

inconvenience (ɪnkənˈviːnɪəns/)
The fact of being troublesome or difficult with regard to one's personal requirements or comfort.

Ah yes, how inconvenient. How very inconvenient indeed. To put this simple inconvenience into perspective let's think about some other inconvenient things. An empty tube of toothpaste. A dead lightbulb. A fire drill. A card machine without contactless. Bird shit. A spot on your forehead. Light drizzle. Forgetting your password. Needing petrol. Diarrhoea. Need I go on?

Now, National Rail, you petty fools, I would not personally apply such a passive term to such a cataclysm. Sure, you are currently thinking that relating a train delay to a large-scale and violent event in the natural world may be a tad dramatic. Well you too are petty fools and have not taken into account the domino effect that ensues once the rail announcer's sweaty finger pokes the first, delicately balanced tile over.

Your time is now. The apocalypse is now. Is cataclysm to apocalypse too big a jump for the third paragraph? I'm angry just thinking about what's coming. On a day like this the sun should fall by 10am and an emergency bank holiday should be called. I'm fuming. Let's just do it.

coffee

The coffee shop. The simple, quaint café that was once your living room on the high street. The most simple of concepts that has transformed into a hipster haven of confusion.

It doesn't really make any sense. I mean, making a cup of coffee is something that even the worst of interns can eventually learn. So why do we find ourselves queuing to spend nearly £3 (a whole pint of actual beer) on a cup of burning, milky anxiety?

I recently found myself in said coffee shop, in said queue, buying said over-priced liquid product. Yep, sound the alarms, we have a hypocrite in the house. As a human centipede of millennial-looking folk stepped up to the counter, their orders sounded more complicated than a potions class at Hogwarts.

What ever happened to a latte, I thought. Is 'latte' not continental enough? Clearly not. The modern coffee order has instead transcended into a haiku of decaf, soy and chai, always ending in 'to go'.

Having witnessed the thespian performance of those ahead of me, I started to doubt my own order. Is a cappuccino 'enough'? Picking that was already a stretch, considering a mocha or, better still, a hot chocolate would almost certainly taste better. In fact, if this is the game that we're playing, we really just want one of those rainbow and unicorns-inducing pink frappuccinos. But alas, this is the coffee gods' world and just we're livin' in it. A cappuccino it is.

five am in toronto

As I walked through Toronto's Pearson airport, the sun rose in the distance above the cluster of urban pillars making up Canada's most popular city. I walked in solidarity between a casual formation of businessmen, couples and families, glancing through the glass towards the metropolitan hub. The spike of the CN tower pierced the rising golden orb, oozing an orange glow into foreign skies, providing the backdrop for the first step of an adventure.

Whilst strolling towards the departure lounge to catch my second flight of the day, Drake's Views coursed through my headphones in what I considered an authentic listening experience - I was in his city, after all. It was Keep the Family Close, the album opener, that struck the most poignant chord. Maybe it was the irony of doing the exact opposite of the title's imperative, maybe it's just a good tune, but it triggered a pause in time that I'll never forget. Satisfaction in its rawest form.

Fast forward two and a half years and the romanticism of 5am in Toronto is merely a mirage of my memory. Stood on an over-populated train, my tired legs struggle to suspend my hungover body as the ThamesLink stops and starts its way through the Hertfordshire countryside. Snail-like rain drops dribble down the doors, blurring the view of a lifeless grey horizon. Middle aged commuters sip over-priced, instant coffee, fuelling the fight to avoid eye contact with any of their neighbours.

It was at that moment when the opening notes of Keep the Family Close, pricked my ears into life. It was the first time I'd listened to the song in a long time, and its impact was like that of seeing an ex after a prolonged period apart.