I’ve been very bad at blogging, I know.
There’s something about a new laptop (yep!), sudden influx of work, and a writing spree (because of my new ‘paper’ journal!)
Yep. I’ve rediscovered the joys of writing on paper 
Slightly dickensian…I’d like some feedback
Home
So this was to be his new home.
The station lay, small and dark along the fossil like tracks. It was a bright day and Thomas had to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun as he followed them with his eyes. The distance was playing tricks with his eyes, as the tracks seemed to converge just at the horizon, forming a sort of giant arrow. Where did they lead, he thought. Maybe London, the city where his father was; maybe Paris even though he did not really know where it was; maybe even Australia, vague murmurs of big ships and open blue seas echoing in his head.
“Boy!”
His head shot up. Yes. That was Mr.Braithwaite. A big man with a corpulent nose who had come to his house and had done a bit of trade. Two pounds for a life. Yes.
“Boy! Stop dreaming and get over here!”
So this was to be his new home
So this was to be his new home.
Thomas tried to make himself comfortable in the hard gravel on which he lay. The tunnel was damp and dark and he could hear what sounded like rats but he couldn’t be afraid. His eyes were drooping and heavy but he couldn’t sleep. A train would be coming soon, the 5.12 to Manchester.
But the visitor was no train, no innocent yet purposeful machine of the railways, but he. He, of the railway guard. He, of the hooked nose and blackened teeth with bright eyes and breath quickened by something that Tom did not understand. A touch on his thighbone was his only warning. A train passed by. The 5.12 to Manchester. But Tom was invisible.
And this was his new home
Thomas did not know what home was.
He stood at the doorway, leaning against the heaving wall. The wind stung his face, the scenery-towns, cities, picturesque villages almost fairy-tale like-passed by, left behind by the great hunk of metal Tom stood in.
He watched them, he longed for them but he knew that he could not have them. They weren’t his.
And then the sea. And a ship to clean. Salt in the air and sailors and sea gulls. And a land…far away, far away, whispering of strange animals and convicts.
But it wasn’t going to be home. Thomas didn’t know what home was, after all.