Irish grandma talking to her grandson on the train so loud the whole carriage keep looking at her. Have a guess who she’s sat next to. No, go on, have a guess.
Yep….me.
She stinks of fags and actually talks/shouts like a cross between Brad Pitt in Snatch and Keith Lemon doing Irish…
Habattydabbydattybatabaddafata​baddapadamatt-POTATO!!
The suit next to me on the train who is reading the Financial Times and smells suspiciously like alcohol and cigars (which makes me thankful I’m not hungover) keeps having phlemmy coughing fits into his fist.
He’s proper loud. I’m starting to get ‘oh dude, I’m glad I’m not you, we all feel your pain’ looks from the other passengers!
Hello Tuesday; you’re going to be a bit of a bastard today aren’t you?
Snoozing through the alarm – 20 mins
Showering, brushing teeth etc – 20 mins
Getting dressed and ready to leave the house – 10 mins
Realising I’m running late and might miss my train – minus 7 mins
Powerwalking the 20 min walk to the station in the rain – 15 mins
Finding out the train is 12 mins late anyway so I’m forced to stand on the platform in the rain, hot and sweaty, holding a brolly in one hand and updating my status with the other – timeless.
Here we go again. An empty carriage and who do I get sat pretty much next to me? Yes, the skinhead who keeps loudly huffing and puffing and sighing whilst talking aggressively to no-one.
Here’s a selection if what he’s saying…out loud…with only me as an audience.
“fuck!”
“for fuck’s sake!”
“I don’t want to”
“fuck it!” (threw his drinks bottle down at that point!)
“fucking work!”
“grrrr fuck!”
So, a nice relaxing journey to work then; not at all tense and uncomfortable for me to have a snooze…
Head In A Blender 