An alarming tale…about bloody time!

Posted on Mar 4, 2014 by headinablender

I have two alarm clocks.

Aside from being a notorious snoozer, there is a sane reason behind this.

In the past I have overslept and been very late for work due to random power cuts in the night; resetting my alarm clock and leaving it entirely redundant by disabling the very important functions of ‘alarm’ and ‘clock’.

Is there anything worse than waking up and being taunted by the L.E.D. display flashing the time that has elapsed since the power cut occurred?

(Flash) Ha ha, I was reset 2 hours and 12 minutes ago!

(Flash) Ha ha, I was reset 2 hours and 13 minutes ago!

(Flash) Ha ha, I was reset 2 hours and 14 minutes ago!

(Flash) Ha ha, I was reset 2 hours and 15 minutes ago!

Yeah, cheers.

Now how do I set the time on this bastard again?

To combat this power cut issue I bought a battery powered digital alarm clock as a backup, although I couldn’t completely replace my alarm clock in case the batteries in my new one died in the night; creating the same problem I was desperately trying to remedy.

So I kept both.

I surmised that the chances of a power cut happening on the exact same night as the batteries dying were very slim.

Then again, this is ME we’re talking about.

Oh wait, hang on; I have my phone alarm too. Dammit. Ok, let me start again…

I have three alarm clocks.

Aside from being a notorious snoozer, there is a sane reason behind this.

I usually set the alarms on the two clocks slightly offset from each other so they don’t both go off at the same time. I figured I was more likely to wake up if there was a constant abuse of sound from which I couldn’t recover. However, I soon discovered that I now just hit two snooze buttons instead of one; and I’ve become quite good at it, with ninja like precision.

Pa-chow!! >click<

However, for some reason my phone does a better job at waking me up than both my clocks do. This might have something to do with the overly complicated process of snoozing it by sliding an icon across the screen in a particular direction whilst holding it upright and singing the national anthem of Hungary or something. By the time I’m done snoozing the little shit I’m wide awake and angry.

As a result I’ve kept my two alarm clocks as they act as a ‘heads up’ that my phone will be waking me up soon. They’re like the appetizers before the main course or the shit warm up act at a show. Plus, I get a massive sense of satisfaction from pressing snooze on my clocks and then nuzzling back into my pillow.

Except for this morning. This morning was an epic fail.

Let me tell you why.

My alarm clocks had been set thus:

Mains powered alarm clock – 6:00am
Battery powered alarm clock – 6:04am
Phone alarm clock – 6:15am

As we had to be out of the house no later than 6:45am.

I woke up shortly after 6am due to the usual ear piercingly harsh beeping from my alarm clock. Well, I say ‘beeping’, but it’s more like a “BLAARGP! BLAARGP! BLAARGP!” as if someone was fisting Wall-E with a goat.

I suppose that’s the point.

I reached out and pressed the snooze button, ready to nuzzle back down when I realised it wasn’t snoozing at all, and now neither was I.

“BLAARGP! BLAARGP! Baa!(Eh?) BLAARGP!”

I reached out again and pressed snooze. Nothing.

“BLAARGP! BLAARGP! BLAARGP!”

Ok, what the hell is going on? I lifted my head (getting serious now) and looked at this mutinous little turd as he Blaargp’d over and over, no matter how much I pressed the snooze button.

Pa-chow!! >click<

Pa-chow!! >click< >click< >click<

It was at this point I flicked the button to actually turn the alarm off. This is the button feared by severe snoozers like me as it can often result in days being lost, sometimes weeks.

Nothing. The sound of mechanical goat love continued.

“BLAARGP! BLAARGP! BLAARGP!”

My wife had woken at this point and sleepily asked, “What’s going on??”.

“I honestly don’t know! I can’t turn my alarm off! This has never happened before!”, I paused a moment before having a brainwave “Wait, I know what to do!”

I reached down and smugly unplugged the clock. Ha!

The alarm was still going!

“What the fuck? How is tha….oh, wait, it’s the wrong alarm clock.”

My wife laughed; mockingly.

I plugged the clock back in, snoozed the Blaargping offender and laid back down to nuzzle into my pillow.

“What time is it?” I heard from behind me.

I lifted my head again, ignoring the flashing L.E.D. that was saying ‘Ha ha, I was reset 2 minutes ago!’ and fumbled for the offender.

“6:11am.”

“What? It can’t be!”

“It is.”

“Are you sure??”

I checked again as it was possible I’d misread it. After all, I was tired, I had eye bogeys, I wasn’t wearing my glasses, it was dark and I was checking the time on the offending clock using the light from my mobile phone’s screen.

“6:11am, see?” I said, showing her the clock this time.

“You’re kidding! How is that possible? Shit!”

My wife was up and out of bed like a shot; the sound of “Shit shit shit” following her out of the bedroom, along the hallway and disappearing behind the bathroom door.

I was starting to wake up a little at this point, so I decided to set the correct time on my recently reset clock to match that of the offender. I then reached for my phone and checked the live online rail services to make sure our train was running on time this morning. I love rushing around to get to the station only to find the train is cancelled so we can spend 27 minutes on a cold frosty platform waiting for the next one instead of spending that time all warm and cosy in bed.

The train hadn’t been cancelled and was running on time.

Damn.

This was when I noticed something weird; the website wasn’t showing our train despite the fact it was due to leave in 45 minutes. In fact, it was only showing trains up to 6:30am, including ones that should’ve left half an hour ago, presented in future tense. That was when I noticed that the time wasn’t 6:11am; it was 5:11am.

Oh shit.

Shit shit shit.

I bolted out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, but I was too late; I could hear the sound of the shower behind the door. I gingerly stepped inside.

“Baby?” I said lightheartedly, hoping to set the mood for the conversation.

“What?” she curtly replied, setting the actual mood for the conversation.

“You’re not going to believe this”, I continued, rolling my eyes and chuckling slightly as if she should find the following piece of news ironically funny in some way.

“What is it?” she replied, not picking up on any of that whatsoever.

“It’s actually 5:11am.”

“I hate you.”

Fair enough.

I closed the door, went back to the bedroom and got back into bed. It was then that that thought dawned on me; if it wasn’t 6am yet, why did the alarm clock go off? I looked at the offender and it did indeed say 6:17am.

What the…?

The clocks don’t go forward for another 3 weeks or so.

I checked my phone; 5:17am.

I got out of bed and checked my watch; 5:17am.

I even went downstairs and checked both the kitchen and lounge clocks; both 5:18am (it took me a minute to get down there)

So why was my battery operated alarm clock an hour fast? It couldn’t be a mechanical fault with the hands or something because both clocks are digital. It must have been changed; but by who?

Also, it’s a bitch to change the time on the battery powered clock, so it couldn’t have been done by accident.

Hmm.

And yet, despite being awake a full hour earlier than we were supposed to be, we still left the house late and had to rush for the train.

Dubai Dickhead

Posted on Feb 28, 2014 by headinablender

On this nice quiet train carriage, a plum voiced prick starts talking unnecessarily loudly into his phone for all of us to hear.

“Oh, Chris, hi” “Yah” “Yah, M-hah hah hah” (known as the ‘posh twat’ laugh)

“No, I’m just on my way up from Gatwick now, yah”

“Uh huh, yah, I flew in, had the meeting, then went to Dubai, spent one night there and flew home; you know, the standard. M-hah hah hah”.

We all think he’s a complete cock.

You know, the standard.

Common sense gets the shaft.

Posted on Feb 26, 2014 by headinablender

This morning at Goodge Street Underground station I heard the following announcement:

“Ladies and Gentlemen; please be aware that lift number four is currently out of service while we perform essential routine maintenance”.

Fair enough.

There are no escalators at Goodge Street station but there are four lifts*, so we’d either use one of the three remaining lifts or take the spiral stairs to the surface; all 136 of them.

Fuck. That.

But the announcement didn’t stop there (although I wish it had); “Please use the remaining lifts one to three, or take the spiral stairs”.

Oh my god I am so thankful they told us that otherwise we could’ve been stuck down there for days.

*Or ‘elevators’ to our American brethren who may be confused**

**At the word ‘lift’.

Don’t stop me when i’m on a roll!

Posted on Feb 19, 2014 by headinablender

This is wrong.

This is right.

This…

…causes the paper to hug the wall and becomes this…

…instead of being easy to grab and pull like this.

So don’t make us deal with this…

…when we want it as easy as this.

However…

…there is NOTHING more unforgivable than this!

Cats and dogs and apes

Posted on Feb 18, 2014 by headinablender

During our lunch break at work today, my wife and I took advantage of the relatively nice day (a.k.a. “fuck me it’s not raining”) and took a leisurely stroll to the British Museum.

As a lunch break has a limited duration, we managed to walk in, say “ooh, it makes you think doesn’t it?” to a couple of exhibits, marvel (and get annoyed) at the amount of students and tourists there were and (attempt to) walk back out again.

We were in there 10 minutes, at the most.

As we exited the building into the big stone porch area we could see it was raining heavily. The most appropriate English idiom I can think of is: It was absolutely fucking pissing it down.

With both of us clever enough not to wear coats that had hoods, we decided it might be best to wait inside the large porch area until the rain either stopped or at least subsided enough for us to venture into it without the need for scuba gear or a kayak.

It seemed we weren’t the only people who had decided to stand in the dry, but I can assure you ~~we were the only people~~ I was the only person getting hit in the face with child umbrellas and doused with excess water from umbrellas being shaken off by the neanderthals arriving at the museum.

Maybe they’re visiting family.

My favourite moment was hearing the large oak doors open behind us, followed by a short pause, and then a voice that implied inbreeding was alive and well in our nation.

“Is it still raining?”

No mate, the floor is bubbling and splashy like that because it’s covered in 7-Up and we’re all stood here waiting for straws. Now pull your trousers up, dust off your knuckles and get back in your exhibit!

follwed by monkeys

By now 20 minutes had passed and rivers had started forming. Time and patience were running out, so we decided to start the swim back to the office.

Along the way I joked that it would be typical if the rain stopped mere metres from the office.

It did.

My wife laughed.

He shoots he fails!

Posted on Feb 17, 2014 by headinablender

I have never referred back to another person’s blog before, but there’s a first time for everything I guess, like skydiving or licking a pensioner.

I subscribe to a great blog (which I highly recommend) and today she was talking about the stresses of packing a suitcase. I must admit I’ve never had too much of an issue, but then again I spent a lot of my youth playing Tetris.

Plus, once you’ve been made aware of the ‘socks and pants stuffed into your shoes’ trick it’s safe to say the feeling of smugness overrides the feeling of despair at not being able to fit in yet another t-shirt which you’ll inevitably bring back unworn and full of creases.

The one part of her post that really resonated with me was that moment an item you’ve lost suddenly (and maliciously) turns up after you’ve asked someone to help you look for it. And I don’t mean you find it quicker, I mean it is sitting there in plain sight where you’ve already looked a dozen times.

Bastard.

This got me thinking about the opposite of that when you’re unable to recreate an awesome moment because you have someone there to witness it.

Case in point…

A few weeks ago I was sat in the break room having a sandwich. It was late in the afternoon which meant no-one else was in there.

Perfect.

As I finished my sandwich I looked over at the bin, which was about 8 feet to my left, and smiled as I picked up the foil my sandwich had been in and screwed it up into a ball. Then, with my right arm, I threw it casually sideways over my head without looking and, not only did it go in, it didn’t even touch the sides!

Boom!

I performed an airgrab, accompanied it with something like “Yeah, get in there!” and then went for a high five only to realise no-one was there to witness it.

Cock.

It could have bounced off a cupboard, ricocheted off the fridge, rolled along a shelf and been scissor-kicked into the bin by a passing mouse and it still wouldn’t have made the blindest difference.

No witness means I could have just made it up.

Yet if there HAD been someone there I wouldn’t have been able to hit the bin if my life depended on it. It may as well be 50 feet wide and house a black hole inside, sucking in the universe, and I still would have missed on an epic scale.

“I got it in last time!”

“Of course you did Dan, sure you did”

Seeing Red

Posted on Feb 17, 2014 by headinablender

I had trouble walking through London Victoria station this morning due to some idiot in front of me pulling a big red holdall on wheels.

Slowly.

I tried as hard as possible to pass him, but he blocked me at every attempt; zigzagging like a shark swimming through an ocean of directionless pillocks….sorry, pollocks.

Is it wrong that I wanted to punch him out of the way?

He was a menace, nearly taking out my legs and those of others around me. He was oblivious to the carnage he was leaving in his wake.

It might also explain why his bag was red; stained with the shin blood of the capital’s masses.

Eventually I managed to get past him and felt the same sense of freedom as overtaking a tractor on a narrow country road. I had the urge to run through the station, flailing my arms in the air screaming “Yes! Yes! I’m free!!”, but I decided against it as I wasn’t entirely convinced my wife would join in.

Although she IS American, so there was a chance.

Still, I wasn’t going to chance it and frankly I was just too tired.

The excitement and energy of passing the holdall hauling halfwit meant I really didn’t have the strength to do anything but place one foot in front of the other.

Anyway, we traversed the concourse and headed towards the underground station, joining the throng of people shoving themselves through the entrance.

As we joined the back of the crowd, there in front of me was the big red holdall on wheels.

How the fuck?

I looked behind me in case there was another big bag bearing bell-end, but only saw a trail of hobbling commuters; limping and clutching their shins.

I turned back in disbelief and it was then that I noticed the writing on his bag:

‘London Fire Brigade – Keeping London Safe’

(clenches fist)

Tits behind the wheel

Posted on Feb 13, 2014 by headinablender

Last night my wife and I got into the car at the end of a long train commute home from London and I turned the ignition, lighting up the dashboard.

In fact, I took a photo. Here it is…

As we sat there with the engine idling, waiting for the mist to clear from the windscreen, I suddenly noticed the total mileage the car had done.

I couldn’t believe it.

Like the misadventures of a pre-adolescent youth with a calculator, I’d had the outstanding realisation that 58008 is in fact the word ‘BOOBS’ upside down!

This only happens once in a car’s lifetime so I was NOT passing up the opportunity to take a photo.

As I wiped tears of laughter from my eyes, my wife simply rolled hers.*

*eyes, not boobs.

The tortoise and the hare

Posted on Feb 12, 2014 by headinablender

Recently my wife started working at the same company as me. Her role in the company requires us to get into work a little closer to 8.30am than 9am.

Dammit.

In order to achieve this we’ve discovered we can catch the same train I’ve always caught and then get off at the following station to connect with a much faster train into London.

Make sense?

So why haven’t I always done this?

Well, there is a method in my madness. The train I always catch is virtually empty with tons of cosy seats for much needed snoozing, whereas the faster (and therefore more popular) train is standing room only; packed full of happy and joyful commuters all too happy that I’m taking up that last square inch of space on the train.

It’s all very intimate. Lots of touching.

So, in true form, we boarded the slow and empty train and took a seat. It was a little taster of what we could’ve had if we’d stayed on board, but soon enough the next station was upon us and we reluctantly got off.

It was a cold and rainy morning, so that always makes it easier.

The train sat in the station for a few minutes and I took this time to smile at the amount of people running to get on before it left. There were a lot of them this morning for some reason.

Maybe they knew something we didnt.

Maybe they should’ve risen out of bed earlier this morning.

Maybe I hadn’t noticed in the past because by this time I was usually sat on my virtually empty train; head back, mouth open.

My favourite of these platform runners was the business man who sprinted at the doors just as they began to close, managing to wedge his hand between them in a futile attempt to prise them open like some kind of action hero.

The doors didn’t open.

He removed his hand.

I smiled and turned to my wife, “That’s happened to me so many times”, before turning back and continuing with, “Ha ha, gutted mate”.

The guard blew his whistle and the train slowly started to pull away. The business man looked thoroughly pissed off, as did the others who didnt even manage to get close enough for some ‘hand in door’ action. But, to be honest, they needn’t be; the next train was also heading to London Victoria station and would actually get them in 15 minutes earlier.

Granted it’ll be standing room only, but its all very friendly.

Why the rush for this particular train? Calm down people. The faster train is just behind it. Relax.

We looked up at the information board which was still displaying the virtually empty, and still slowly departing, train and waited to see if the fast train behind it was on time.

‘Cancelled’

What?? No!!!

We shouldn’t have got off!

The slower train would’ve got us to the office on time, but now we were going to be late.

The runners knew. They KNEW!

Shit.

And as we watched the virtually empty ‘slow’ train full of warm and comfy seats (that we’d just been sitting on) leave the station I swear I caught the business man smiling at me.

Ha ha, gutted mate.

Stop talking

Posted on Feb 10, 2014 by headinablender

There’s nothing like that beautiful silence when one half of the ridiculously loud and plummy voiced couple talking utter bollocks on the train finally arrives at their stop and gets the fuck off.

There really is nothing like it…

You, shall not, PASS!

Posted on Feb 7, 2014 by headinablender

The place – London Victoria Station.

The time – 07:29am.

The scene – Hundreds of ‘cheerful’ commuters ploughing through the ticket barriers with an assortment of tickets and cards.

At times the barriers decide to have a hissy fit and refuse to open. This could be for several reasons:

Your ticket or card has become unreadable.
You’re travelling in peak hours on a leisure fare.
You’re carrying several bags, boxes and children.

The machines love preying on those who need the barriers to open more urgently than anyone else.

These bastards know; (whispers) they KNOW!

However, this morning there were no commuters carrying anything heavier than furrowed brows and a desire to get through the barriers quickly. This is when these automated arseholes prefer to strike; picking off the weakest of the herd and testing their patience to the limit.

Today was no different.

A woman strutted up to a barrier, pressed her Oyster card against the card reader, received the usual ‘beep’ and continued strutting, only to be virtually impaled on the unopened barriers. This can be frustrating at the best of times, but when you’ve got a queue of 20 or more people behind you, it is also incredibly embarrassing.

She tutted and pressed her card against the reader again.

‘Beep’

The barriers didn’t open.

The air suddenly felt thick with silent rage and suppressed violence from those behind her.

“Oh come on!” she half shouted as she slapped her card against the reader.

‘Beep’

The barriers didn’t open.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”

Slap!

‘Beep’

Slap!

‘Beep’

“Come on you fucking thing!”

Slap slap slap!

‘Beep’

The barriers remained closed and the queue behind her was getting longer and longer like some massive dickheaded snake.

Instead of admitting defeat and seeking the help of a guard, she did something that inspired me to write this post; she began ramming herself against the barriers shouting “come on!”

Over and over she thrust herself against the barriers, trying to squeeze through the unyielding and un-widening gap. It had eluded her that it was called a barrier for a reason.

Slam!

“Come on!”

Slam!

“You bastard, come on!”

Slam!

“Gnn!”

Slap slap slap!

‘Beep”

Slam!

I noticed the snake had started to dissipate and join other queues, but a few people stayed behind to watch this woman meltdown before their eyes. I don’t blame them.

She eventually relented and went, bloodied and bruised, to find a guard.

‘Beep’

I went through.

Do you agree?

Posted on Feb 5, 2014 by headinablender

“Yeah”
“Yeah”
“Yeah”
“Uh huh”
“Yeah”
“Mmm hmm”
“Yup”
“Yup”
“Yeah”
“Yeah”
“Yeah”

(Long pause)

“Yeah”
“Yeah”
“Well yeah”

(Pause)

“Yup”
“Uh huh”
“Mmm hmm”
“Yup”
“Yeah”
“Yeah”
“Yeah of course”
“Yeah”
“Yup”
“Yeah, OK bye”

…was the half of the telephone conversation we all had to endure from some guy on the train.

It was as annoying as a dripping tap.

I’m sure he’ll agree.

The accidental pugilist

Posted on Jan 31, 2014 by headinablender

Another normal* morning on London’s fine underground network system. The masses and I were stood on the platform awaiting the next oversized Pringles can to arrive and whisk us away.

Soon enough it arrived and the doors wheezed open as we all stood back to allow the shuffling morons off. We made sure to wear our customary scowls as they did so, before pushing and shoving onto the train; desperate to fill the void left in their wake.

As we crammed on I noticed that the woman in front of me had a shitload of space in front of her, but wasn’t moving into it. I’m not sure she realised the loud voice over the tannoy telling us all to “move down inside the carriage and use all available space” applied to her.

Those straddling the gap between the train and the station did.

I concluded that common sense should “move down inside the brain and use all available space”, but quickly dismissed that as futile and instead tried to push past her.

She wasn’t having any of it.

I’m 6 feet tall and this little twat was only about 5 feet tall, so it was inevitable I was going to succeed in pushing past her. This was a further indication that common sense eluded her.

Never before have the words “Mind The Gap” been so appropriate.

Despite her best efforts I shoved past her and lifted my arm to grab the handrail bolted into the ceiling. In the process of pushing past this brainless bint and raising my hand at the same time, I succeeded in punching a seated man in the side of the head.

Yes, that’s right; I punched a stranger.

This wasn’t a light brushing or a mild scuff; it was a full on, four knuckled, unrestrained smack across the side of his head. In fact, the force of it was strong enough to cause his head to jerk wildly to the side.

I looked down, ready to apologise profusely and lay blame with the stubborn bitch who should’ve been the one to punch him instead of me, when I saw that he hadn’t even looked up from his phone.

Nothing.

No reaction.

What the fuck?

He just sat there and continued playing Angry Birds as if he gets punched by strangers all the time.

“So how many was it today Dave?”

“Only 3. Although I did get a headbutt in the nuts from a midget”

I’m sure there’s a joke in here somewhere about a punchline.

*who am I kidding?

Don’t fanny about.

Posted on Jan 30, 2014 by headinablender

I always thought that decorating the vagina with crystals, diamonds and other assorted gems was a daft idea.

So is the name; ‘Vajazzle’.

It should’ve been called ‘Blinge’.

Cycle-path-ic tendencies

Posted on Jan 28, 2014 by headinablender

While walking to the office this morning, after the nightmare train journey into London, I heard a distinct “Fucking idiot!” from the other side of the busy road.

Of course my attention was drawn to it straight away and I saw the aftermath of a man who had clearly stepped out in front of a cyclist without looking.

The cyclist was stood there with his bike between his legs; front wheel on the floor and the back wheel up behind his back. It was clear he’d slammed on the brakes causing the bike to stop suddenly, and him a little less suddenly.

He’d then obviously performed that awkward stumbling forward like a man with 50lb testicles which had resulted in the bike riding up behind him.

The man who had stepped out in front of him had chosen to continue walking; ignoring the chaos and carnage he’d left behind.

The cyclist loudly shouted something at him as he walked away, but I didn’t hear much of what he said due to the noise of the traffic. I did pick out the words ‘prick’ and ‘fucking’, so I suspect it wasn’t, “please be careful when stepping out into the road, I’d hate for you to be injured”.

The cyclist hopped back onto his bike and cycled away, turning a corner out of view.

The man was going the same way as me, but on the other side of the road and before long we came to another junction in the road. It was at this point the cyclist came out from the side road, pulled up next to him and made SURE the man had clearly understood what a “complete fucking prick” he was.

He didn’t argue it.

He would’ve lost.

All for one…

Posted on Jan 28, 2014 by headinablender

This morning my train was delayed due to a “passenger being taken ill” on board.

My first clue that something wasn’t right was when a man entered from the adjoining carriage and woke me up by screaming “IS THERE A DOCTOR ON BOARD!??”

No reaction.

“PASS IT DOWN!”

No-one did.

He stood there for a few seconds, shot everyone a contemptuous look and headed back to his carriage.

Once I’d wiped away the drool from my mouth and the shoulder of the woman next to me, I looked out the window and saw we were just outside Clapham Junction, the busiest train station in the UK. I then looked at my watch and saw that we were running 40 minutes later than usual.

What the fuck?

I soon discovered it was something to do with signalling problems/electrical issues/leaves on the track/frost. [Delete as applicable…take your pick]

It was at this point, as the train slowly trundled into Clapham Junction (the busiest train station in the UK), that I noticed an unnatural silence in the carriage. At first I thought it might be due to concern for our fallen comrade in the other carriage, but I soon concluded it was because everyone was thinking the exact same thing as me….

“Don’t stop the train, don’t stop the train, don’t stop the train, don’t stop the train…..”

‘Crackle’

Oh no.

‘Fizz’

Oh shit.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen, this is your conductor speaking…”

Please no.

“…it appears the alarm has been pulled in one of the carriages…”

Ah, dammit!

“…owing to someone being taken ill on board.”

Here we go…

Now, I’ve ranted about the delays caused by those ‘taken ill’ before, but that was about the afflicted being on the platform, whereas this time it was someone actually on the train.

After multiple “apologies for the delay” and “awaiting a first-aider” announcements, it occurred to me….

Just take them off the train.

I mean, how ‘ill’ was the person if all we were waiting for was a first-aider? At no point did the announcements say we were awaiting a surgeon…or a mortician; so why not take them off the train and treat them in the cool, refreshing morning air?

Nope. As a lot of us feared, the inevitable happened.

The speakers crackled and fizzed to life again and the conductor suggested it might be a good idea we all leave the train and board another one. After all, there were plenty of trains heading into London as this was Clapham Junction; the busiest train station in the UK.

As you can imagine, this went down as well as a vegan’s fart in a broken elevator with the packed masses who were already very late for work.

Now, I’ve estimated a train carriage holds over 100 people and this was a 12 carriage beast packed tighter that Tom Jones’ trousers, so in effect we had over 1200 rats fleeing a sinking ship. That’s 1200 moaning, tutting, multi-directional shuffling zombies joining the crowds at the busiest train station in the UK; all heading towards platform 14 to join other equally packed trains full of scowling, miserable sods all unwilling to ‘move down the carriage using all available space’.

Amongst the crowds and mayhem I found a gap on platform 14 and, whilst silently congratulating myself, smugly waited for the next London-bound sardine tin. Soon enough it pulled up and I discovered why there had been a gap on the platform; I was stood equidistantly nowhere near the train doors.

I couldn’t have positioned myself better if I’d tried.

The doors opened and people started piling off the train. The rest of us glared at them as we watched the ever increasing space form behind them like a tin of cookies at a Weight-watchers meeting. I began sizing up my fellow commuters to see who I could take down if the need arose. The small Chinese woman, the man in front of me with the rucksack, the woman checking her make-up in a portable mirror; I reckon I could take them all with a well placed elbow here and a careful headbutt there.

As it turned out we all got on board.

Lucky bastards.

Mind you, some dude had my arse in his face all the way into London.

Lucky bastard.

Anyway, we arrived into Victoria almost an hour later than usual and everyone made a beeline for the underground station which, for some reason, wasn’t busy at all. It was actually a breeze getting through the barrier and I couldn’t, for the life of me, understand why th……

Oh wait, it was 09:25am. Of course it was quieter; most people were actually AT work!

Oh well, at least the tube would be a nice end to this nightmare journey.

‘Crackle’

Oh no.

‘Fizz’

Oh shit.

“We apologise that, due to a signalling failure at Brixton, the Victoria line is subject to major delays in both directions”.

Maybe someone should call a first-aider.

Quickly.

Plane scary!

Posted on Jan 27, 2014 by headinablender

Today, whilst looking at my place of work on Google maps, I saw this.

Holy shit…..that looks low!

Let’s face it…

Posted on Jan 23, 2014 by headinablender

This morning I was stood opposite a girl on the tube whose eyebrows were drawn 150% thicker than they should’ve been, with far too much pink glossy lipstick that reflected enough light to blind everyone around her.

And she was orange.

Why do women think this is an attractive look?

Mmm, I can’t wait to run my hands through those big man brows whilst stained orange like a baby’s nappy and covered in pink sticky glossy shit….said no man, ever.

Laughable.

She looked like this.

“London Bridge is failing Dan, failing Dan, failing Dan….”

Posted on Jan 22, 2014 by headinablender

London Victoria underground station was closed tonight due to ‘someone being taken ill’.

Bollocks.

There’s no way someone said “I think I’ve got the flu coming on” and they shouted “Stop everything!”

I suspect it’s a more subtle version of “someone being liquidated by a train”.

If it’s not I can assure you that I, and about a thousand people frantically redirecting to other stations to escape the city like a frantic piss out of a pair of leaky rubber pants, will be hoping they feel better long enough to fall under the next train that’s “not stopping at Victoria”

It was utter bedlam tonight with agitated commuters strutting around directionless looking for an alternative way of getting home, and failing.

I made my way to London Bridge station as I knew I could get home from there and stood waiting for my platform to be announced.

It’s always been platform 5 whenever I’ve travelled from this station so I went through the barrier into the station, up the escalator and waited patiently by the platform entrance.

And waited.

It was 6 minutes until my train was due to leave and the platform still hadn’t been announced.

And then….

‘Platform 9’

What??

Where the fuck is platform 9?? There’s only platforms 1 to 6!

Cock!!

I ran down the escalator, back through the barriers, out of the station and saw there was another entrance which had platforms 7 and up.

Grrr!

There is nothing more infuriating than the possibility I was going to miss my train despite having been there for ages!

And, true to form, all the commuters had been switched to ‘slow, ambling, zombie fuckwad mode’; making my run that much more varied with slaloming, hurdles, chicanes, twists, turns and twats at every step.

I bolted through the masses, up the escalator, through the barriers to the platforms and ran (a concept unfamiliar to the cretins around me) down the platform alongside the train.

Ideally I wanted to be at the front of the train, but it was about to leave so I boarded halfway down and continued my journey inside.

It was at this point that some suited prick boarded the train at the next doorway and cut in front of me, only to then stand still.

Oops, my mistake, he WAS walking but at a speed which I could be forgiven for mistaking as ‘stationary’.

In fact, ‘Mr Stop’ here was so piss-achingly slow, I got off the train, walked down the platform and boarded ahead of him (on the same carriage) so I could continue at a pace that actually involved putting one foot in front of the other.

No sooner had I traversed another carriage than a woman did the exact same thing and cut in front of me; moving at sloth-like speed while she decided where to sit on this virtually empty train.

It amazes me how these people function day to day.

I sat down and took out my phone to begin writing this blog entry.

It took around 40 minutes to write (as autocorrect can be a bitch) and, as I sat thinking about how I could end it, I looked up and saw Mr Stop finally taking his seat.

Perfect.

VordSearchen

Posted on Jan 21, 2014 by headinablender

This morning whilst stood on the tube I found myself reading someone’s tablet over their shoulder.

I use the word ‘reading’ loosely as it was all in German.

It read something like this:

Kraften blitzke frausch mit aschven krau ka diftenschkraschen eins muttsen bitte lisch ja fluugan zwei genitals dreischen seib achtung zwolften schlassen cochsuckens banhofftenschlasse.

…

…
Yes, I saw that word in there too.

On a whole page of German words my eyes happened to gravitate to that one English noun nestled in there like a tick, which says a lot about me.

At least, I think it was all German. It could’ve been a wordsearch.

In which case, I won.