Wednesday, 9 April 2014

The never ending journey

"The never ending journeyyyyyyyyyyyyyy,

"Argh argh argh argh argh argh argh argh arghhhhhhhhh."

If Limahl had ever had to take an eight hour train journey from one end of the UK to the other then that is what he would be singing. He wouldn't have bothered with a tale of a boy fighting his fears in a fantasy world. He wouldn't need to sing about a world that needed saving if he was undergoing the cesspit of an overcrowded Virgin train with broken heating. 

Of course, it's not actually Virgin Trains anymore as the franchises chop and change so often but I hate that pseudo hippy cocknugget so I'm going to blame it on him. Oi, Richard Branson, you're shit. Your trains SMELL and they were designed by MORONS who decided to devote three entire carriages on every train to massive toilets that please no one. The doors don't work properly. I know, because earlier I walked in on a Chinese girl having a wee. It wasn't a good moment for anyone.

And the heating is broken so the carriage is now at inferno style temperatures, which isn't helping my fast rising temper.

My booked seat is tiny. I can't reach the socket. I'm surrounded by gimps called Graham and Tony who have decided now is the perfect time to call everyone they know and talk about their boring fucking job.

Next to me right now is Graham. He's important, I can tell. I can tell because he's just repeatedly informed someone that he is Director of something and the new boss of that person. He has an Area and a Sector and a Region. He's blatantly trying to fire someone who is, apparently, an impediment to real change and moving forward. Graham is an asshole and I'm firmly on Martin's side.

On the other side of me is Glynnis. Glynnis doesn't know that train etiquette demands that beeping noises when you text should be turned OFF, GLYNNIS, OFF.

Behind me is a child. I don't know his name. But I don't like him.

I left York in a cloud of bonhomie and love for my fellow man. I'm now in the more familiar territory of black rage and bile.

I'm hot, dirty and tired, covered in other people's germs and micro organisms, assailed at all sides by annoying noises and the ins and outs of Graham's boring bastard life, I've had too much coffee and am jittery. It's Falling Down, all over again. Except with whiny blog posts instead of death and destruction.

Still, only the four hours to go.

1 comment:

  1. Ah yes, the "businessmen" (usually under 25, with bad skin and too much hair-gel) who talk very loudly, thus demonstrating to the rest of the carriage how important they are. Do they genuinely not realise, I wonder, that their fellow sardines are just thinking "wanker"? Come the glorious day, comrade, they're the first to be up against that fucking wall!

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