Chew chew train

I was on the train this morning, minding my own business and sending messages on my phone and generally living in my own happy little world.

The train pulls into some station or another, and this guy boards and plonks himself down in the seat next to me.

After about 10 minutes I’m aware, from the corner of my eye, that he’s watching me type out my messages!  Cheeky fucker.

I own a Galaxy Note 2 which is like having an LCD TV in your pocket, so it’s massive and it’s difficult not to look at it when someone whips it out…a lot like the camera crew on the set of ‘massive dongs’.

He was also furiously biting his nails, so all I could hear was the occasional loud click when he’d chipped a piece away, accompanied by heavy nostril breathing on his fingers.  What was even more unnerving was the fact he wasn’t spitting any of them out (which in itself is disgusting), so this meant he was consuming them.

Basically, to him, this was the commuting version of watching a subtitled film whilst munching popcorn.

I started to wonder what his reaction would be if I started typing stuff specifically for him to read, like…

  • ‘The piece of shit arsehole next to me on the train is watching me type. What a fucking twat LOL’
  • ‘Yes babe, I have my penis out under my jacket, wanna photo?’
  • ‘I’ve just peed myself and I can feel it running down my leg. The seat is getting warmer.’
  • ‘I really fancy this guy next to me, i’m going to touch him the next time the train jerks to the side’
  • ‘I’m just getting my knife out now. I’m going to do it right now.’

I needed to do something; his breath was starting to smell like burned hair.


Pissed off

I stopped off in Sainsbury’s this evening to pick up something for dinner. I was feeling the desire for chicken as I was hitting the gym tonight and figured some protein wouldn’t go amiss.

However, before I got lost in the aisles I decided to finally give some attention to my bladder who had been nudging me for the two hours like a spoiled child in a toy shop.  As I can’t scream at my bladder to shut the fuck up, I decided it might be an idea to find the toilets instead.  It was either that or wait until I got home, but I was bursting and I felt a sneeze coming so I didn’t think it wise to take the risk.

“Clean up on aisle three!”

I searched everywhere for the toilets which is always a great game to play when you’re capable of dousing the flames consuming an entire office block, and possibly the one next to it.  It’s always so much fun playing ‘hunt the toilets’ and not at all tense, frantic and laced with seething rage.

Anyway, I eventually found them up two flights of stairs and navigated the six miles of corridors to eventually find the men’s room.  It was right next to a door that read ‘staff only’; a door that I was convinced opened out to the front of the fucking supermarket, but I didn’t care at this point as my nose was starting to itch, suggesting a sneeze could be imminent.

I walked into the toilets, walked around ANOTHER corner and finally found the urinals.  As I did so, the motion sensor lights came on.

‘Fair enough’, I thought to myself.

However, as the lights came on, so did the nearby hand dryer.

‘Odd’, I thought, but fuck it, who cares?

So I stood in front of the urinal with the hand dryer blowing hot air across the floor and up the wall in front of me. This all seemed less than noteworthy….that is until I started to pee. That’s when I realised this hand dryer was in fact wafting the aroma of warm piss up into my face.  Yes, I was getting a full on facial blast of Eau De L’Urine that had been in my bladder for hours; fermenting and maturing like that first beefy wee of the morning.

And because my bladder had been so full I couldn’t stop the flow any more than I could stop the fucking hand dryer!  Yet this bastard carried on regardless, not showing any sign of stopping anytime soon.  No, it seemed to be connected to the lights so all the time I was stood there it was going to push more and more of this ammonia goodness up my nose, burning my skull from the inside.

I closed my eyes and pushed on, not daring to open my mouth for fear of tasting.  I looked like a dog with it’s head out of the car window, only less happy, and less open mouthed.

Holy shit, how much more is there to come out of me? I was peeing and peeing and peeing.  I could literally feel the pounds dropping off.

I eventually finished, shook my manhood carefully to avoid releasing any droplets into this face focused upward vent of piss infused nastiness, and zipped up.  I then went over to the sink and washed my hands, checking my face in the mirror to see if I’d somehow turned yellow.

I hadn’t of course.  What a twat.

I then turned to face my attacker, walked up to the little shit, placed my hands under the vent and it turned off.

Are you fucking taking the piss?



It’s my first day back in the office after a bank holiday weekend. Alas, I worked Saturday and Sunday but was able to do so from home.  This was great because I got to email and generate reports whilst only wearing pants and maybe a sock. Strangely it’s frowned upon when I do that in the office.

So this morning I am back on a train heading towards London, contemplating a much needed nap.  Then, out of nowhere, a young woman gets on and sits practically next to me talking… sorry… TALKING into her phone at great speed, without breaks or punctuation, in a language I don’t recognise.

That’s annoying.

If you’re going to disturb me and keep me awake at least have the decency to let me have a narrative I can mock you with.  Instead all I have is “CHAMBO LAPAMOOPOO DIBIDO BICHEDOOFIBBLE CHOOMA WOPPY BADUMOPA LIPU”

Hmm, pick the bones out of that one Dan….

It’s ok, i can still sleep through this. I CAN sleep through this.


Come on Dan, you can sleep through this…..(eye starts to twitch)


After a couple more stations of this shit, the door opens and….oh fuck, it’s the dipstick from my previous blog who decides to sit right in front of me.

I wonder if stripping to my pants and sock will make them fuck off and let me sleep? 

Let’s find out….


Whoreditioning for a part.

I’m sitting on the train watching Californication (which is awesome by the way), desperately trying to drown out the two cocks sat next to me talking bollocks.

Suddenly two young, attractive women enter the carriage and take the last two seats; one of which is directly opposite me.


Or so I thought.

They’re pissed as fuck and the one opposite me is chewing her gum so loudly it sounds like a long lipped bloodhound having a drink.

And every sentence has the word “like” in it at least, like, three times.

They’re talking about auditioning for acting roles and the importance of “losing oneself in, like, a really, like,  really juicy role that you can, like, lose yourself in”

I’m tempted to tell them that sucking the producer’s cock can really help.

Mind you, she IS chewing a lot of gum.



I haven’t written a blog entry in a while, mostly because work has been super busy and I’ve been sleeping on the train; head back, tongue out. Drooling optional.

So I thought I’d write an entry now despite the fact it’s past 1.30am and I’m very, very sleepy. In fact i’m fighting to stay awake so I can at least finish writing this entry.

I don’t want to fall asleep in the middle of typing a


Crush the Candy Saga!

What is with all the invites from my friends to play Candy Crush Saga on Facebook? Isn’t it basically bejewelled from, like, a million years ago?

Oh sorry, no, wait, this one has candy in it.

It amazes me just how much of a steaming shit I really don’t give.

Now, I’m suspecting this retard of a game is auto-inviting me on my friends’ behalf which is incredibly cuntsiderate, but I would rather dip my hairy coinpurse in peanut butter and release the hounds than play this candy coated cock of a game.

Having said that, I may have just discovered that half of my friends are in fact dribbling gibbons who thought it was a good idea to invite Dan because “he likes videogames”.

That’s like offering me a VHS copy of a shit 70s film because you’d heard I was a movie fan. Great, I’ll add it to my BluRay collection shall I?

And if I’ve insulted anyone who may have sent me invites to this game, then I am truly, utterly and sincerely overjoyed.

Game Over.


Chav chav train

Ah the people I see on the train….

The mum – short, chubby and freakishly butch, neck tattoo, short cropped hair with blonde tips, gold teeth and leggings, holding a Staffordshire Bull Terrier on a studded leash.

The daughter – taller, chubby, badly drawn arm tattoo of two indecipherable names, bleached blond hair scraped back, leggings, stained vest top and holding two pushchairs full of offspring.

The son – skinny, deprived of daylight, spotty, gold earring, headphones and a vacant look in his eyes.





Suited and unmuted

There’s a guy on the train this morning who is talking loudly into his phone. The reason I can hear him is because he’s the ONLY person talking loudly into his phone like a distressed seagull outside your bedroom window at 6am on a Sunday morning.

For context, he’s a young indian guy with slick gelled hair (spiky but with a comb-over at the front), a suit and tends to end a lot of his sentences with “innit” and “bruv”.

He’s going on and on and on at such an increased volume that the young woman sat next to him reading her book hasn’t turned a page for nearly 15 minutes. I’ve also noticed her knuckles have turned white.

Anyway, this bell-end is clearly talking to someone who has recently bought a new car.

At one point he jokingly asked “do know where the dipstick is?”

Yes bruv, the entire carriage knows.


Broad strokes (of a paintbrush of course!)

Following on from yesterday’s entry; I’ve seen another amusing thing that I simply couldn’t pass up.

This is one of many desk calendars we get from our suppliers at work, only this one has a glaringly obvious cropping issue!

I seriously can’t stop laughing!