The Shame.

This morning I fell asleep on the commuter train. Not just any ol' attempt at sleeping- it was full on snoring and drooling sleeping. Normally, I reserve such a display for the assembled duvet and pillow audience, but not this time. Canadians are such a polite bunch, at least the people sitting around me, that no-one gave me a nudge to wake me up or to shut me up. I cut quite the stylish figure what with my face pressed against the window of the carriage, giving my snores, what I can only imagine to be, a beautiful echoing quality. I awoke with a start when the annoucer yelled, (he must have known I was perfecting my Sleeping Beauty impersonation), over the intercom that we had arrived in Union Station. I shot up in my seat, hair akimbo, make up successfully transferred to window, mouth wide open, with strand of saliva connecting my tongue to said window. And people wonder what Ian sees in me.

My trip home was much more successful. I was aware that I did not stand a chance against the might of sleep so I cleverly set my alarm to ring at 5.25pm, leaving me a full 5 minutes to arrange myself before arrival at Whitby. However, I had forgotten that I had set my alarm to nerve shattering loud so when the offensive little thing went off in my hand, I threw it from my fist in shock right onto the lap of the gentleman sitting opposite me.

My Go Train image is in tatters