The Mrs hates me catching this train as she is woken up by my alarm clock at 4 am. I understand her point and so only take it now and again as a treat, when I have to be in London early. But it is a treat. It is the last train before 9.30 which does not cost a second mortgage to catch, but it is the best train of the day.
The cab speeds through a deserted City in minutes. There is no traffic, no jams which serve simply to annoy. A quick fag and I climb aboard a deserted train. There is just one other person in coach D with me as we prepare to depart. And so I am sitting with a desk to myself, able to stretch my legs and type away.
There are no reserved seats from Chippenham or Swindon to worry about. This is my seat and my desk all the way. Only at Reading will the train start to fill up.
By the time I get to London I shall have completed my first four articles of the day and will get to my desk at Real Man Pizza well before 7 AM ready to load those pieces up, sub two from the Closet Chartist and one from Malcolm Stacey and have a stiff black Americano before starting the working day.
By 8 AM six of the day’s ten articles on shareprophets will therefore be loaded ready for publication, by nine I could plausibly be done, only awaiting Steve Moore’s word perfect copy.
And that leaves the whole of the rest of the day for other things: my experimental Christmas pudding pizzas, lining up more stands for www.ukinvestorshow.com, chatting to more customers and staff from the Empire who wish to move to the rebel alliance, etc.
I have a full day free for making mischief. That is the real joy of the 4.47