Writing Assignment: Chapter Beginning

“If you loved someone, you loved him and when you had nothing else to give, you still gave him love.”

I have reads this four times over.

In 1949 George Orwell wrote 1984: compelling, unconventional; one of those books you read for experience rather than pleasure, so that you can talk about it with others and pretend that you posses layers of unearthed knowledge. Admittedly, it really is thought – provoking and even I can appreciate its poignant relevance to society today. But that’s not why I have read this sentence four times over.

My concentration was broken three minutes ago by a forcedly genial battle between one raised English accent and two fast – paced French ones. A slow, grey haired man at the red desk behind me has spent the past three minutes explaining, with little success, to a bewildered French couple that their travelcard will take them only as far as Putney Bridge. I still do not understand precisely the zones system which dictates the London underground. Evidently, neither did the French couple. I suppress a smile as the frail information attendant repeats for the second time that if they want to go to Wimbledon they will need to buy another ticket, and that Tim Henman would probably not be playing as it is no longer tennis season. At this point, I catch the eye of a woman in a red summer dress sitting opposite who rolls her eyes and returns my grin. I was not the only one enjoying the dialogue. After a further two minutes the old man’s patience wears out and he hurriedly offloads the couple onto an unsuspecting platform attendant.

Eventually, the impregnable conversations of passers by and the monotone platform announcements of Waterloo Station fade once more into the background, allowing me to return to the year 1984. It feels like only thirty seconds has passed when my literary bubble is burst once more. This time by a screaming child. That child that appears at every station, that jumps off benches into the path of oncoming passengers and screams to high heaven at the words “not today”. I always feel for the parents. This particular couple appear to have given up reprimanding and are now feigning ignorance, silently willing the next five years to pass quickly. Reluctantly, I bookmark page 190, return George to the bottom of my tan shoulder bag and, zipping it back up, close my eyes.