Jack branches into travel writing:
As I trailed out of Glasgow Central Station, I felt tired, low and blue. A man in a suit had looked at me on the train, clearly thinking, "What is a single mother doing in first class?" I had cringed and melted into my train seat, chewing on nails and Opal Fruits as I longed to disappear. When he asked me to move my feet out of the aisle so he could move past, I knew he was really saying, "You don't belong here, go back to a DARK flat in 2010!"
But out of the murk, a sign leaped up and danced to my cracked and weary eyes. Seeing the name plastered across the sign, I thought it sounded a bit fancy and pricey, but I bit the bullet. Isn't travel all about branching out? Hurtling into the place, a fantastic smell of pastry and coffee greeted me. "Hello," smiled the woman behind the counter, with a classically Scottish expression of delight at seeing my sad little face. "Can I help you?" she gushed. Well, long story short, I was bowled over by the service in Costa Coffee Glasgow Central and would go there again in a heartbeat-