I didn't like trains. I didn't like the way that the railway lines kept on going, endlessly parallel. The dull, distraught click-clacking of the train was incomprehensible, so I was bored to my bones. Dad would just sit on the blue, squiggly chair, as if nothing was there. My head would spin with humidity and dizziness, as not only the sun was shining, blazing on my forehead, whilst droplets of sweat poured under my hair. But the train would take twisting, cranking turns and I would be tossed to the side, banging my head on the hard glass. I complained to my mother, pleading for it to stop, but it just wouldn't end. She had offered me a slice of cake, and to my surprise, I turned it away. What was wrong with me?!?!