Every morning when I get to the train station, I walk past the single ticket office to join the platform.
Every morning there’s a bloke standing by the ticket office chatting to the occupant behind the glass.
It’s clear they’re mates.
For context I need to explain that the guy in the ticket office is massive. I mean huge. He basically resembles a professional darts player, complete with a full on cockneyed ‘saaf Lahndan’ accent. His mate can simply be described as Ray Winstone, although he’s not.
Every morning when I walk by I catch a snippet of their conversation and it usually involves “some fucking muppet” or how the country’s going to shit. They basically put the world to rights like a couple of builders over a pint.
This morning as I approached, I noticed they were joined by a woman; a really ‘classy’ older bird with massive hoops in her ears and far too many rings. It was apparent that Ray had said something contentious as both the woman and the behemoth behind the glass were clearly not happy.
I wonder what it is today? Is it the local council? Is it the fact that today is Margaret Thatcher’s state funeral?
As I got closer I heard something come out of the Winstone wannabe’s mouth that I didn’t expect.
He said, “yeah, they changed the animators”
What? I’m sorry, what did he just….what?
I slowed down for this one.
“Really?” said the stunned woman, as Shrek in his oversized uniform looked on with contempt, “Tom and Jerry?”
“It’s fucking disgusting. Is nuffink sacred?” said the fat controller.
“I know mate, I know”, said Ray.
I kept walking.