I'm on the train! by Wendy Perriam Page A

the fact that I need time and space to work out who I am and what my role in the world should be.’
    It was obvious he was still a student in terms of his whole mindset . As a greenhorn of eighteen, she, too, had agonized about the meaning of existence, but her priorities had changed since then, as had those of all her friends. ‘Look,’ she countered, tetchily, ‘some of us want other things – things that only money can buy. Holidays, for instance. Surely you agree we need to travel, if only to make us less insular, but if you’re penniless you can’t go anywhere.’
    ‘’Course you can, if you’re willing to hitchhike or backpack, and doss down with friends or strangers. I’ve been to quite a few places – although I refuse to fly, because that’s immoral, too. But I’m quite prepared to be destitute in Delhi or Djibouti or wherever, so long as I can get there. A year ago, I spent two months in Gaza, supporting the Palestinian resistance movement, and I’ve even been overland to Siberia, to help the Russian environmentalists clear up the pollution in Lake Baikal.’
    She shifted in her seat. She and Josh preferred to visit more congenial spots. Last July, for instance, they’d enjoyed a relaxing fortnight in a villa in the Seychelles and, the year before, booked a boutique-hotel in Barcelona.
    ‘It made me livid, Alice. I mean, there’s Baikal, the oldest lake in the world – three hundred million years old, at least – yet it’s polluted by this factory, standing directly on its shore, belching steam and pumping dangerous chemicals into what was once the cleanest water anywhere on earth.’ His legs were twisted round the chair-rung; one hand tightly clenched, as if even his body attested to his vehemence.
    His sincerity was patent – that she had to concede – yet all this philanthropic talk made her feel discomfited. If she were brutallyhonest, she probably cared more about the size of her next pay-rise than saving some lake from pollution. ‘Siberia’s a hell of a way to go,’ she muttered, at last; aware it sounded distinctly lame. But, with her scanty knowledge of environmental issues, she was hardly qualified to start holding forth about saving the blue whale. In truth, she was keen to change the subject again, before he suggested she joined Friends of the Earth, so she asked him what his parents did.
    ‘My dad’s a management consultant and a complete organization freak. Even when we were little, he treated us like his employees, rather than his kids – gave us printed rotas for the household chores; even promised us an incentive bonus if we did them well, and on time.’
    So, she mused, sanctimonious Daniel was merely reacting against his personal circumstances, in the same way as Schopenhauer; setting up a system of philosophy that was really little more than a way of getting back at Dad. ‘Your father sounds quite sensible to me. At least he gave you a useful training for later life.’
    She and Josh hadn’t yet discussed the controversial issue of whether or not to have children. They’d been together three whole years now, but she had to accept that his career came first – as indeed did hers. In truth, she was in his debt. As an alpha male, par excellence, he had not only got her the job and taught her almost all she knew, he’d also invited her to share his elegantly spacious garden flat in Islington; a far cry from her former flat-share in an insalubrious part of Holloway.
    ‘In fact, I reckon your father would get on well with my boyfriend. Josh is a whiz at time-management. He’s produced this six-stage system that helps you take control of your life and get on top of your workload. Before I met him, I was all over the place, yet I didn’t even realize. I’d allow things to pile up, or just fritter away my time, without thinking out my personal goals, or setting up a timetable.’
    ‘That sounds healthier to me than Josh’s system, if you don’t mind me being frank.