There are four twats on the train sat at the table across the aisle from me.
All four are dressed like Carlton from ‘The Fresh Prince Of Bel End’ er, I mean ‘Bel Air’, but talk like the chavvy rudeboys they are failing to be.
There is a funny smell in the carriage and the conversation (ha ha, ‘conversation’) starts:
“What is dat smell innit?”
“No idea bruv, yeah?”
“Man, that smells is for real, I smelt it on the way up, innit?”
This really pisses me off. Do they realise “innit” is a slang version of “isn’t it”?
They have no idea how much I’d like to punch each of them in the face.