The Train Journey Starting to End

I left Andy's house to use the phone box by Hove Station to ring Em. The sky was different, rippled blue and the horizon wet with sunset. The air still humid, a vampiric heat, but there is little doubt these are the last days of summer. Something in the light, the deepening of evening, the way sound carries. You can hear autumn, like a humming in the distance, the sound of playgounds carried on windy days.
The dog show ('Scruffs') in St Annes Well Park. Bales of hay, and chidren runnng around after harassed seagulls. Men drinking beer, good natured but raucous.
The dogs were well behaved.
A group of people sat next to us wo all looked like minor celebrities; Martin Freman and Bill Bailey, someone who looked like they might have been in Casualty or Holby City. I met a colleague of Al's who went to school with And Also The Trees, my favourite band. I sat amongst the crowds and drew in my sketchbook, a semi-indusrial mass of cathedral windows and barbaric medieval abstractions. I didn't like it at all, and was vaguely embarrassd to be drawng (what I thought was) such a terrble picture in public. People kept complimenting it though, much to my puzzlement, and a man who owned a t-shirt company took my number with the possibility of doing some designs for him.
Strange.
1:01 am now. Back in my bedsit, and I feel exhausted. I ring up tomorrow to find out if I am starting my job next week. Haven't heard anything back yet. Meetng Em when she comes back from Worcester on Tuesday at midnght at the train station. Joe coming down that day also before he leaves for Poland again on Friday.
The summer train beginning to slow. Suitcases starting to be collected from the racks above us. Shuffling in the seats.
Nearly there now at the autumn stations, the long summer train journey starting its end.