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| 'This looks like the build up to a punchline' |
I don’t find Train journeys irritating, I don’t find myself complaining about the four minute delay, I don’t stand in the face of what is a great service and damn it to hell because I didn’t pre-book my ticket. I stand humbly and commend all the trains, the lot, Thomas as well. The piece of the puzzle that is ruining our travel experience is you. You chewing with your mouth agape, you with your broadsheet paper, sitting there scratching your genitals, reading the copy of The Sun left on the seat that you knew I wanted. You’re about to get written about, Old Testament style.
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| 'Just put them out of their misery' |
A typical train journey has two possible outcomes; sitting alone, or God forbid, sitting next to someone else. Worst-case scenario, it’s an old woman, she hasn’t spoken to anyone other than herself or that magpie she assures you is “The same one every day, comes back he does”. No he doesn’t, no it isn’t, you lonely, old, wench. She’ll sit there spindling her old fingers, like a five foot pickled onion in a wig, waiting for the moment to speak to you, casually shuffling a bag of Worthers Originals in front of you. She wants you to take one, then she’s got you, one big caramel web of old stories; her dead husband, her dead sister, her dead friends, her old, forgotten vagina. It’s a regular old wives tale. All you can do is endure it, like a cavalcade of stones being hurled at your face. “I remember when this station was….”…. WHAT, WHAT WAS IT? EVEN MORE FUCKING BORING THAN WHAT YOU’RE SAYING? Then there are other conundrums (my word of the day), What if she dies? Does the train have a defibulater? Am I responsible? Did my story about being sick into a DVD case scare her to death? Because it literally splashed back all over my hair and face, it was dreadful. I don’t want to resuscitate her, she has old lips, and years of kissing peoples cheeks have wrinkled them into little beetroot crisps. Its for the best to just leave her there, At least I can say I was with grandma when she died, maybe I can use the sympathy to get a hot buffet at her funeral?
“Is anyone sitting here?”, a dreaded question, are these people thick? Its clear im utilising the other seat for my bag and two baguettes. You expect me to give up the privilege of not having to stand up to get my two, fresh made, expensive baguettes. I should just throw them out the moving train; you want me to not have my eight-pound baguettes. You’re talking to the guy trying to eat a fifteen-pound baguette here, COME ON!* Next time someone does that, I’m going to pull down my jeans and just bend over and take it. Because every time you make me move my bag you are sodomizing me. I want it there for convenience, and no, as you’ll joke, gesturing at my nice bag (plus baguettes) “Does he have a ticket, HAR HAR”. No he doesn’t, but if I had realised before I got aboard that some smart aleck was going to try to rhetorically fuck me out of my extra seat then I would have purchased two.
Maybe it’s me, its possible I’m the worst person on the train, because obviously it’s a crime to want to sit undisturbed for the duration of my journey. Without some pork pie slouching down next to me, smelling like an old library, eating a pack of Tesco’s basics sausage rolls. Is that so much to ask? For you not to look at me with that doughy face, that pair of beady eyes resting on my expensive, expensive baguette. These aren’t your only bad features Fat Man. I’m an internet blogger, so its pretty clear that I’m very attractive, like a young Denzel Washington, but not black or bald. This means I cant stand that sight of ugly things, it makes me want to be throw up my baguette (reasonably price considering what a great baguette it was). I cant even watch programs about ugly people. I was watching Katie and Her Beautiful Friends and was sick all over my genitals. This was because the title was so misleading I mistakenly believed it to be ‘wank-worthy’. Those people aren’t beautiful at all, poor marketing.
Aside from my bashing of the horrifically disfigured, I’d like to move back to my hatred of everyone else, because I don’t discriminate. I’d like to round this all of with a short-list of my most hated journey companions
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| 'I preferred it when they just indulged in casual terrorism' |
· ‘One Upper’ – you pull out a Nokia, he’s got an iPhone, you call your mum, he calls your mum.
· ‘Broadsheet’ – Buy a smaller paper you pompous idiot
· ‘Phonesman’ – “No Fletcher I said ‘sell’, If those stocks are still there when I get back its your job. Yes I understand you’re just the caretaker but your bills aren’t going to pay themselves, what, well tell your wife you don’t like funerals...what do you mean ‘hot buffet’?” – No one cares about your business, shut up.
· All the Children – In the event of a continuous, rhythmic seat kicking the key is to turn round and whisper , “Maddie did that on the plane to Portugal”
I just really love the train, and you’re ruining it.
From the Editor ‘a pretty locomotive deal’
*The new cultural reference system. Guess in the comments section for prizes. I'm not fibbing
