You get me innit Bruv yeah?

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.

That’s reasonable.

ISN’T IT?

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Prick-et inspector

“Get back!”

What the fuck?

“Get back!!”

The train guard was shouting through the closed doors of our train at a commuter on the platform who I assume was trying to board.

The doors were shut and you know what that means; the guard now had the undeserved authority to be a prick about it.

I then heard the guard open the doors and shout, “Get back!! This train is ready to depart!!”, and then promptly close the doors.

Hang on, why didn’t he just let the guy on?

Oh yeah, because he’s a prick.

Of course.

A line had been crossed…and it was yellow.

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