Belated Back Home Post

The train journey (much to my relief) home was uneventful.

The last time I got the train a couple of years ago, in the dead of winter, I travelled back from Birmingham to Cambridge in an ice box.  It was a Sunday and the heating in the carriage I was sitting in had broken down.  The Guard asked me if I would like to change carriages.

I shook my head, ‘No, thank you.  Besides it’s good for the old diet.’ When he looked at me quizzically, I explained, ‘When you’re cold your system has to work harder to keep you warm. That way you burn more calories.  If you want to lose weight, sit in an ice box for a few hours every day.  I’ll move to another carriage when my fingers turn purple I’ll move to another carriage.  Besides, I value a seat to myself far more than I value warmth.’

The Guard edged away from me as though he thought I was stark-raving bonkers.

Oh well, gotta give the guy credit for being an outstanding judge of character.

If the limit does not approach anything, the limit does not exist.’

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