In touch
“How much is a pint of milk? What is the price of a loaf of bread? What would you pay for a postage stamp? How much does a return rail trip from Norwich to London cost?”
It should be one of those questions that politicians and celebrities are asked, to test whether they are in touch with reality.
I spent much of the journey trying to work out why a premium quality seat should be sold at a lower cost than a standard seat on a train that is not full. I could not come up with a sensible answer. Any politician or film star who can work it out deserves a position of public respect.
In London I wore a suit and, being a bit of a coward, no flip flops. As I walked back from Westminster to Liverpool Street in the late evening sunshine I noticed that about 10 percent of the people I encountered were wearing flip flops. They were mostly young. I am glad to be in touch with youth trends.
My mid-life crisis is forming around discounted rail tickets, vegetable cultivation and cheap footwear. So much simpler than a sports car, dancing girls and a cocaine habit. Dull is the new disgraceful.
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You walked from Westminster to Liverpool Street !
Surely with all the money you saved on the train you could afford a ticked for the Circle Line …
Your feet would have been very dirty by the time you got to Liverpool Street had you made the brave choice to wear your flip flops with a suit !
Sounds like you’re keeping busy and having fun too I hope.
Piers Morgan asked Gordon Brown the “how much is a pint of milk” question when he interviewed him for GQ magazine not long before he became PM (Gordon, that is, not Piers, thankfully). Gordon was correct within a couple of pence (and I suspect that Piers didn’t have a clue)
I envy you your cut price train travel – those of us who commute into the smoke don’t have such luxury (although I will keep an eye out for you on my train – then I can bamboozle you for a while when you wonder who I am).
As an aside, flip flops on the tube tend to be a mistake when a galumphing workman in “steelies” decides your feet are where his want to be, or alternatively, a bimbo with falling down disease decides to plonk her stilletto in the middle of your foot 🙂