The weight of waiting.

Posted on Nov 30, 2012 by headinablender

Standing on the platform waiting for the platform number to be announced for the train we’re all waiting for, despite the fact that we all know its the train in front of us on platform 19. So here we all stand, adamant we have the right train, but unmoving until its made official in bright orange letters on the black backed information board.

And we wait.

And wait.

And we start shuffling around, checking the boards for other platforms in case we might’ve been wrong, even though we know its the one sitting at platform 19. It’s always platform 19.

It’s approaching 5 minutes late now and we’re all getting fidgety, especially as the train at platform 19 has just been vacated by a sea of people with expressions ranging from beaming smiles, to smacked arse.

And we continue to wait.

People are now starting to call friends and family to loudly announce how late they’re going to be, and to dramatically describe the inconvenience it’s causing them.

One guy in particular gets my attention, mostly because he’s stood right in front of me, but also due to the nature of the conversation I can hear at this end. He clearly has a suspicious and untrusting partner on the end of the line.

“Hi it’s me”
“Yeah I’m still here waiting for the 18:02 but its not here yet”
“Yeah I’m stood right in front of it, and it’s not here so I’m going to be late”
“Well I don’t know”
“How can I if there’s no train?”
“I’m telling you, I’m AT the station and there’s no train announced yet”
“Honestly, there really isn’t!”
“I don’t know (sighs), when I get there. I’ll text you when I leave”
“I will!”
“No idea, they haven’t told us anything”
“There’s no-one around to ask”
“I don’t know”
“I said I have no idea; we’re all waiting for the boards to say which platform”
“I AM on the platform, but we’re waiting for it to come up”
“Ok”
“Ok”
“I’m sorry”
“I said I’m sorry”
“Bye”

Jesus!

He’s got a great Friday night to look forward to.

The train is finally announced.

Platform 17.

Smash Bandit Coup

Posted on Nov 27, 2012 by headinablender

Well, what an eventful evening we had.

It started when I received a call from my girlfriend to say the car had been broken into and her handbag had been stolen

Oh shit!

She sounded a little shaken up, but mostly pissed off as she had only been about 20 metres away from the car having stopped by her mum’s house for a couple of minutes to drop something off. She had been standing on the doorstep!

Everything was in there; her credit cards, debit cards, cinema card (the horror!), driving licence etc…oh, and her set of house keys. It’s at this point that the sudden, stomach plummeting thought crossed my mind; her driving licence has our address on it.

Oh shiiiiiit!!

I, at this time, was on the train home and it became obvious that the driver had sensed my sudden desire to get home quicker by slowing down to a crawl.

I got off the train, eventually, and raced to my girlfriend’s mum’s house where I was met with tears, a plastic covered passenger side window and the tail end of several phone calls to the credit card companies.

We drove straight home; all the time playing in my head what I would do if I found one of the little shits in my house. Put it this way; they’d never leave.

Thankfully I didn’t need to worry about hiding bodies. No-one was there.

So, let me summarise….

– Locksmith to change all the locks = £200
– Excess to insurance company to replace the window later today = £75
– Cash in my girlfriend’s purse because, typically, she’d been to the bank = £410!

That’s nearly £700 spent for the pleasure of guilt, regret, anger, frustration, sadness and violation.

So I have a message to the thieves who made our evening such an enjoyable one (and apologies in advance to my parents for the colourful language I’m about to use).

“I hope you and your inbred, knuckle dragging family shit pineapples until you drop dead of some slow and painful cock-rotting disease, you total fucking arseholes”.

Thank you for your time.

Guilty guard

Posted on Nov 26, 2012 by headinablender

The guard on the train this fine Monday morning made an announcement explaining why we’d stopped short of Three Bridges station. He started with: “Good morning ladies and gentlemen. I’m sorry about the delay in arriving at the station but we’re waiting for a platform to become available…”

All good so far. Something I hear quite regularly, although I admit I’m a bit pissed off as I’m likely to be late for work now.

He then pauses for what seems an eternity. All we can hear is the background of whichever carriage he’s nested in today, and his breathing. Yes, we’re all sat here listening to a stranger’s breath over the tannoy.

Bit weird and awkward.

A couple of commuters exchange glances that say ‘hmm, this is not only weird, but a little bit awkward too’.

Im glad I’m not the only one thinking it.

He then says ‘erm’ a few times before continuing: “this is, erm, (pause), erm, because of delays caused by, erm, a broken down train between, er, Three Bridges and East Croydon, erm, (long pause), erm….(another long pause…I think he’s going to cry) erm, I, erm, would like to apologise for the ,er, delay and for, erm, any inconvenience caused”. His voice is starting to sound shaky and trails off.

‘Odd’ I think to myself.

And as we’re sat there in silence with only the sound of the train heaters for company I swear, somewhere in the distance, I can hear gentle sobbing.

It’s going to be one of those weeks.

FuCoffee!!

Posted on Nov 23, 2012 by headinablender

Slurp.
Massively loud swallow.
Heavy breathe out.
Repeat for nearly 40 minutes.

The guy next to me on the train is about to wear his fucking coffee.

Grrr!!!!

I hope you, like, really, like, LIKE this like, post.

Posted on Nov 21, 2012 by headinablender

I have the two most annoying girls sat next to me on the train. They are talking constantly, and luckily the ONLY two people talking on the entire carriage.

It’s ok, I didn’t want to sleep anyway. It’s fine ladies, you carry on. And on. And on. And on.

To add context, they both say ‘yah’ instead of ‘yeah’, and the word ‘Uni’ comes up a lot. You know the type.

But what’s fascinating is how much they use the word ‘like’ in a sentence.

Allow me to, like, demonstrate….

Let’s use the simple sentence;
“We went to a great bar last night with a group of people and it was good”

This is how they’d, like, say it;
“Oh my God! We, like, went to, like, this great bar last night and, like, we went with, like, this huge, like group of, like, people and it was, like, soooo amazing and stuff!”

Add in hand gestures that look like they’re playing chords with both hands on an invisible piano.

Also, they also go up at the end of each sentence making it sound like a question. Those of you who know me will understand how infuriating that is! For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, don’t worry…I’ll blog about it at some point.

Anyway…

I have my camera and tripod with me today, so I’m contemplating twatting them both across the face with them. Twice each; just for good measure.

Don’t want to damage my camera though.

Train’d Parrot

Posted on Nov 19, 2012 by headinablender

I get on the over packed train, having sprinted like a lunatic to catch it, and look everywhere for a seat. I walk down carriage upon carriage of smug commuters looking for my own little slice of heaven, but alas…nowhere to sit.

Then, in between the two EMPTY first class compartments, just where the carriages are coupled, I find a fold down seat not dissimilar to the jump seats used by cabin crew on an aircraft. There’s no one around, there’s no one using it…so I sit down.

Mmm, comfy.

The train pulls away and I settle down to play games on my iPhone.

Perfect.

I look up and down the carriage and it’s standing room only as far as the eye can see. I’m definitely part of the smug crowd.

About 3 mins into the commute I hear footsteps getting closer and closer. They stop to my left and I sense someone stood over me.

I don’t look up.

“Can I help you sir?”, comes a voice in a thick African accent.
“Sorry?”
“Can I help you sir?”, he repeats, in exactly the same way.
“Oh do you want to see my ticket?” I ask, knowing full well what he’s getting at.
“You can’t sit here” he continues.
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“You can’t sit here” he repeats again, not actually answering my question.

I stand up “sorry, why can’t I sit here? The train is packed and there’s nowhere to sit”
“Dis is for staff sir” he says, stating the bleedin’ obvious.
“But there’s no one sat here” I argue, knowing I’m going to be as successful as a dog walker, bag in hand, watching their dog squirt diarrhoea all over the floor.
“Dis is for staff sir” he repeats, like a parrot who’s been taught a phrase but hasn’t got a clue about the right sort of delivery.

Polly want a cracker?

I look him in the eye, smile and say “Oh! I see! It’s for you is it?”
“It’s for staff sir” he says again, causing me to suspect he may, just possibly, be absent a personality.

“Oh, well in that case I’ll go and stand over there uncomfortably with everyone else. Thank you so very much”. I walk back through the EMPTY first class compartment and join the sauna.

“Dis is for staff”

Yeah, I heard you the first 9 times you insufferable Jobsworth.

Luckily this train is really, really delayed and I’m left standing here amongst the coughers, newspaper rustlers and that one guy whose ipod is turned up so loud he’s having problems keeping his balance.

I may garrotte him with his headphones.

Mind you, he hasn’t got to endure those annoying phone users who all take this opportunity to call home and advise of their tardiness. They all start the same bloody way; “hi hun it’s me…me. It’s me. Hello? Yeah it’s me. I’ve got no sig…hello? Yeah I’ve got no signal! Hello? Hello can you hear me? Hello…my train is delayed and….” (Cut off)

They then get called back (with their ringtone at full volume…enough to startle Mr iPod) and repeat the above conversation, almost word for word.

End and repeat.
End and repeat.

In the meantime the guard has pissed off down the train somewhere and isn’t even using the ‘staff seat’.

Think
I
Might
Scream

Carriage chav

Posted on Nov 16, 2012 by headinablender

A proper fight kicked off on the train between a young 20 something girl and some guy. She was shouting abuse the likes of which would offend anyone with a sensitive disposition.

She then angrily stomped down the carriage towards the end I was sat at and I suddenly realised, there was an empty seat next to me! Oh shit!!

She continued with “you shut the fuck up bruv, you shut up yeah!?” and classics like “you little prick! That’s what you are, a little prick!!”

She got closer….her massive hoop earrings clattering against her numerous necklaces.

Shit shit shit.

Then suddenly she disappeared into a spare seat 3 rows in front of me, still shouting “fucking dickhead”, and “go back to where you got those scars you prick!”, although most of it is to herself as the guy had gone.

I felt sorry for the little timid woman she’d sat next to, whose eyes were firmly fixed, unblinking, to her kindle.

She then picked up her phone to call, who us sniggering commuters can assume was, her ‘home girl’

Here are a few choices from this side of her phone conversation (In a proper rudegirl gangsta girl stylee…at full volume)

“I should’ve put my heels to his knees.”

“Acting like some princess; what a c**t”

“Do you still think of me when you’re on the toilet?”

“He’s all up in my face like ‘oh you pushed me!’ like some chief yeah!”

“I ain’t playin’ man, I ain’t playin’!”

There were more but she was spouting them at such a speed in her gravelly ’40 a day’ voice that I couldn’t catch them all.

Now she’s sat there singing along to her iPod. Yep, singing. And still swearing under her breath.

I think the kindle woman was supposed to get off at the last stop.

Not my seal of approval!

Posted on Nov 15, 2012 by headinablender

Just read in the newspaper (over someone’s shoulder on the train admittedly) that a painting sold at auction for over £47 million last night.

How fucking much??? It’s just canvas and paint right?

I saw the painting; it’s one of those ridiculous affairs that’s just a red stripe with an orange stripe, and some red, with a bit of orange…and red. I have shit like that in my art folder from infant school.

But what makes it worse is that about 3ft in front of me is a poster from the Marine Conservation Society begging for a £5 donation to stop harmful marine litter maiming and killing turtles, seals and all other types of marine life. It even has a picture of a seal caught up in discarded fishing rope; poor little guy.

So 1 painting = around 9.4 million seals.

Sigh…

Sex change?

Posted on Nov 14, 2012 by headinablender

I was all snug and comfy on the train this morning, starting to doze off.

However, two or three stops into my journey, a guy and a girl sat down behind me reeking of cigarettes and talking complete bollocks at a volume suitable enough to keep me and most of the 12 carriage train from sleeping.

Great.

But this isn’t about how loud they were or how pungent their aroma was….no, this is about what made me smirk when we all got off the train.

It seemed the deep, gruff manly voice belonged to the woman, and the higher pitched soft girly voice actually belonged to the guy.

He was also wearing more foundation.

No comment.

Blah blah fucking blah…

Posted on Nov 13, 2012 by headinablender

Another incessant talker on the train.

She just…won’t…stop…talking.

It all comes out like one unrelenting sentence without stopping for air or punctuation.

It’s likely this woman never farts as her mouth isn’t closed long enough to build up any pressure

Her friend (I assume; it could be a random passenger who is having just the worst journey into work right now) is simply there to provide the occasional ‘yeah’, ‘oh right’ and ‘oh dear’.

But we know what she really wants to reply with. It’s what we’re all thinking….

“Shut the fuck up love”

Fate? Or futile?

Posted on Nov 12, 2012 by headinablender

This morning my journey into work started with a delayed bus that got me to the station later than I’d hoped. I still managed to catch my intended train, but I had to run…which in work attire first thing in the morning, when my limbs are creaky and cold, tends to resemble a newborn deer; gangly and awkward.

Having made my train and rewarding myself with a mental high five I settled down into an empty seat and looked forward to my nap. This morning’s nap would be exceptionally enjoyable as I was on an earlier train today and I knew I didn’t have a mentally insane power walk the other end.

Half way into the journey the driver announced, whilst sat at a station, that there was a technical difficulty with the doors and we wouldn’t be going anywhere for at least 20 minutes.

Great.

So I settled into a nice deep sleep, which resulted in snorting myself awake when the driver’s voice came over the tannoy again (see previous blog entry: ‘Wakey Wakey’)

I finally made it into London, 2 minutes before I need to be at work; 20 minutes away.

Time to be Bambi again.

And the delays didn’t stop there.

I got stopped by two people whose Oyster cards wouldn’t let them through the barrier, a woman who kept stopping with her suitcase without warning, a train that was held in the station for 3 minutes (which equates to 3hrs overground) due to a stop signal, a guy on the escalator who was more preoccupied with his kindle than walking up the escalator (he got a sharp jab in the ribs for his efforts), and an elevator that finally moved after the doors opened and closed 6 times.

What is it with doors today??

So all in all, quite a prolonged commute into work. Perfect for a Monday.

I can only hope that fate had a plan and, by delaying me, ensured I avoided being hit by a car, mugged, shot, blown up or (worst of all) being stopped by charity people with dreadlocks and clipboards.

Wakey wakey

Posted on Nov 12, 2012 by headinablender

I just loudly snored myself awake on a delayed, and therefore packed, train.

I tried styling it out by following up instantly with sniffing loudly, clearing my throat and then looking at my watch as if somehow it would come across as an elaborate and annoyed clearing of my throat intended to show my annoyance and disgust at being late for work on a Monday.

It didn’t.

All I achieved was scaring the shit out of the couple sat opposite me.

In….out….

Posted on Nov 9, 2012 by headinablender

The difference between Darth Vader and the guy next to me on the train is that Darth Vader breathed quietly.

Which tube are you headed on?

Posted on Nov 8, 2012 by headinablender

The tube door shuts and clouts a woman across the head. She stumbles a bit and tries to style it out by acting unbothered.

Mildly amusing

The door opens again and smacks her a second time across the head in the other direction.

She almost drops her phone. Less styling.

Very amusing.

A guy takes this opportunity to jump on the train just as the driver announces we should ‘mind the closing doors’.

The doors close, twatting him across the head.

Downright hilarious.

Even the woman is smirking.

One sided conversation

Posted on Nov 7, 2012 by headinablender

I’m witnessing an awkward conversation between a man and a woman on the train who clearly know each other.

She’s talking non stop at great speed with masses of enthusiasm and no gaps for breathing. He just wants to sit in silence and maybe sleep. It’s so obvious as he’s just giving small unenthused recaps of her paragraphs, followed by brief moments of silence when he closes his eyes, only for her to launch into one again.

For example:

Her – “we’ve just replaced all the radiators in the house because Steve thinks it better that we have new ones ha ha ha ha ha and the new ones are much better but the old ones are quite vintage so Steve think we should sell them ha ha ha ha ha because we can make some extra money ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!”
Him – “yeah, you’ll make some money”

5 seconds of silence. He puts his head back and slowly closes his eyes.

Her – “there are quite a few babies in our family and Steve said its a nightmare ha ha ha ha well they’re not baby babies as a lot of them are a bit older now but you know what I mean ha ha ha ha ha but Steve and I aren’t going to have any yet as we like to relax at home and put our feet up ha ha ha ha”
Him – “yeah because you haven’t got any babies yet”

She’s maintaining eye contact with him at all times which, considering they’re sat side by side across the aisle, means he has to keep his head to the right.

It’s painful to watch.

How is she not seeing it? I mean, in the 20 minutes they’ve been on the train, he’s lost about 2 stone in weight and grown a beard.

Run away Steve. Far, far away.

Posh nosh

Posted on Nov 5, 2012 by headinablender

Picture the guy opposite me on the train. In his late 40’s, got the whole jeans and sensible jumper/shirt combo going on. Imagine a slimmer Richard Curtis and you’re pretty much there. He’s reading his iPad so I haven’t heard his voice, but I suspect there’s a private school tone to his voice. The sort of guy who has children called Tarquin and Felicity, and whose wife is probably shagging the gardener as I write this.

A posh twat basically.

So why am I telling you about him? No particular reason; he’s just grating on me a little bit by what he’s doing.

Firstly, he’s covered in biscuit crumbs, like a gibbon with a packet of digestives. I understand that they can be crumbly, but for god’s sake man, brush them off. But no, instead he continues to wear them whilst opting to frequently slurp his coffee like a child with a bowl of soup. I have nothing against slurping hot coffee as it’s hot and therefore a full on sip will burn the lips, but this guy’s been at it for ages. The coffee is cold…like his wife.

This is not helped by the fact the train has stopped due to a signalling failure and we’re all plunged in that uncomfortable, awkward silence usually reserved for full elevators. A whole carriage full to the brim with people and all you can hear is ‘cough’, ‘sniff’, ‘rustle rustle’ (newspapers)….oh, and ‘slurp’.

Tensions are high. I might flick his nose.

Speaking of which, here’s the other thing he’s doing that I’m not keen on. He’s picking his nose. Thats right, picking his nose!!

This isn’t simply scratching it, no; he’s really digging in and mining for the green stuff…all with his little finger. Mmm, nice.

He then starts to roll his findings between his little finger and his thumb. Mmm, nice.

Once he’s finished excavating, he begins to slowly, but purposefully, flick it. Failing at first (due to stickiness no doubt), but persevering nonetheless. It’s at this point he reverts to wiping it off, either on the seat or himself.

Hang on, are they actually biscuit crumbs?

Also, as I starting writing this he reached into his satchel (yes, satchel!) and produced a banana. He then proceeded to eat it which ordinarily wouldn’t be worthy of mention, but remember this; we’re on a deathly silent train that isn’t moving.

He begins to munch the banana (insert private school joke here), and as he chews he does it with his mouth open so he sounds like stirring stodgy porridge.

I may beat him to death with the skin.

Recruitment commute

Posted on Nov 2, 2012 by headinablender

On the train home, and luckily I’m sat next to two young guys discussing, what I can assume is, how much commission their job gets them and how shit their colleagues are at it.

It becomes very clear, very soon, that they work in recruitment. I have nothing against recruiters as I have friends who do it and I used to be one, but these two little Danny Dyers are the breed of recruiters better described in a word of one syllable.

You figure it out.

They’re sat here, amongst commuters, (lots and lots of commuters who have no doubt been clients and candidates to a recruitment agency at some point) describing clients and candidates like dumb cattle put on this earth to earn them some ‘bank,

Bank? Fucking really??

They’re getting some disapproving looks as they carry on talking wank about their cattle, whilst munching McDonalds a fistful at a time. How ironic.

One of them, we’ll call him ‘Tony’, is bragging about the deals he’s “got on the board” amongst other inane shit, whilst the other is a gap filler whose only role is to listen, nod and occasionally say “I know, he does doesn’t he?” and “yeah, I couldn’t sit next to him”.

Here is a sample of the utter bollocks Tony is coming out with……or at least, what I can make out through mouthfuls of McMasticated mess.

– “I’ve got more deals up on the board, so don’t go bringing it!”

(I’d like to point out these guys are white, and so far away from being ‘street’, they’re practically ‘meadow’)

– “He’s a 23year old 12year old”

(I’m sorry. What? Surely that should be the other way around otherwise you’re simply pointing out a pre-teen is exceptionally mature for his years…unlike yourself?)

– “I’m better than you, you feel?”

(No comment. Seriously, who says “you feel?”?)

– “Ben is a one trick pony”

(Unlike you, who sure is one prick, Tony)

[No idea who Ben is]

– “He finks (not ‘thinks’) he’s God’s gift for a day”

(Is this still Ben? Who knows. Who cares? I just want him to choke on his fries)

There was more, but I think I’ve made my point.

Tony finally gets off the train and they say their goodbyes, which had the word ‘mate’ in it, like, 200 times.

They arrange to see each other next Tuesday.

Appropriate.

To pass or not to pass?

Posted on Oct 31, 2012 by headinablender

Readers of this blog (or my Facebook page) will have noticed that I have the occasional (ahem) issue with the shuffling morons I share my commutes with every day.

There is, however, another type of commuter that I feel needs a mention.

This one isn’t as slow as the others, nor are they as randomly multidirectional as their brethren. These ones tend to walk with purpose and determination, usually at a speed just slow enough to attempt overtaking them, but fast enough to fail. Trying to pass these people means speeding up to a point where it actually starts to become uncomfortable and you look awkward because, well, you’re practically running.

If you do manage to overtake them you then have to decide; do you slow back down to your normal speed (which might make you look a bit stupid as they’ll inevitably walk past you and put you back to where you started), or continue walking really fast like someone needing to poo?

Tough decision.

Unless you actually need to poo.

London Undergrind!!

Posted on Oct 29, 2012 by headinablender

Faaaaarkin’ hell!

What a tube journey!!

The whole thing started badly when I left work late which usually means I miss my train from London by literally one minute.

One. Whole. Minute.

I made it to the tube station, having successfully avoided black cabs and ninja cyclists, and attempted to enter the station. And when I say attempted, I mean attempted. It’s amazing how many people just stop dead when walking, or don’t know how to walk forward.

It’s not that hard; it’s the direction your fuck ugly face is pointing. Can we please fit these people with brake lights or, at the very least, indicators??

I managed to slalom these bungling bell-ends and get through the ticket barrier (which, interestingly, was the only thing that was reliable this evening). I then joined the escalator and started walking down on the left, which is the understood escalator etiquette on London’s underground network. I made it half way down when some twat stood on the right realised everyone on the left was walking down and decided to step out and join them, taking each step at the speed of dark. The stationary people on the right arrived at the bottom quicker.

Finally I made it onto the platform just as a train pulled in. “Result” I thought to myself as I jumped on.

The train then sat there for four minutes, which, on the underground, equates to about 3 weeks.

Finally we pulled off and we bumped, swerved and jiggled our way to my final destination. Great if the carriage was full of busty bikini clad girls.

It wasn’t.

The good news is…I could still make my train here.

We all got off. And it was at this point I was utterly and violently fascinated by the speed we all disembarked. It defies logic that people in a hurry….aren’t! It’s not because of bottle-necking or anything because I managed to wriggle through the plodding pillocks like a good looking knife through thuddingly dumb butter. I now know where George A. Romero got his inspiration, although his zombies would go hungry with the lack of delicious grey matter in the vicinity.

At last i made it to the final escalator and decided to opt for the left hand side walk up. This time no-one stepped out in front of me because they were all too bloody lazy, and they didn’t need to as the person in front of me was clearly struggling to climb the steps. Would it have been wrong to grab them by the shoulders, shove them to the right and exclaims “for fuck’s sake!!” Loudly as I stomp past? Hmm….possibly. I opted for silent rage.

I made it to the top, through the rest of George’s flock, through another non-obstructive ticket barrier and onto the conc…. onto the conc…. onto the conc…

Will you get out of the fucking way people!!!!

…onto the concourse. Jesus! It seemed no-one could walk in a straight line, or continue without stopping, or control their kids, or luggage, or their knuckles as they dragged along the floor.

It’s been an emotional journey and, oh look, I’ve missed my train by one minute.

This is not something I make up….

Posted on Oct 25, 2012 by headinablender

This morning, after a long and cramped commute into London, I was chatting with a friend and we began comparing our vacuum packed journies into the capital.

The subject eventually turned to women (obviously), but more specifically the different types of make-up they wear; the tones, the colours, the thicknesses and the way they apply them (brushes, pens, trowels etc..)
There seems to be a myriad of methods and styles adopted by this country’s fairer sex. Mind you, having said that, it’s not really accurate to describe them as ‘fairer’anymore when they come in so many colours, like the iPod.

For example, this morning on the underground, there was a young(ish) girl stood in front of me whose make-up was flawless. I mean it was ‘photoshoot’ flawless. I think she’d been photoshopped to be honest. I couldn’t stop staring at her, not because I found her attractive or anything, but simply because she was ridiculously unflawed and unblemished. it was truly a work of art. And stood next to her was a woman whose tone resembled a rusty car.

What a contrast.

The Oompa-Loompa’s boyfriend must be a plasterer as she’d clearly had help with applying half of Arizona’s desert to her face. In addition to this she was extremely shiny with big pink Santa cheeks and blue eye shadow that would make a porn star blush. I find it a little saddening that she’d clearly taken time to smear on half of Superdrug’s stock that morning and yet my attention was drawn elsewhere. At least, it WAS drawn elsewhere until Miss Loompa starting talking loudly to her friend through very, VERY red shiny glittery (and badly pencilled) lips.

And what is this fascination with being orange? I’ve never understood it. I can appreciate the need to look tanned as it gives that holiday glow, but orange makes it look like you’ve been on holiday to Chernobyl…and that glow is probably uranium, or Ready Brek.

But if you really want to look orange, dip your face in carrot soup. Just let it cool down first.

I do have one last observation that is actually something i’m impressed with, and that’s the ability of some women to be able to apply make-up on a moving train full of people whilst standing!

I have seen this on numerous occasions and it never ceases to amaze me. Not only can it be done on a bumpy and swervy train, but also whilst squished up against other people. I swear these women practice in their closets. They adopt the arms of a preying mantis and manage to juggle brushes, pens, pads, sponges, mirrors, curlers and mobile phone whilst bouncing around the carrriage with everyone else like some weird, emotionless, slow motion mosh pit.

And the fact they don’t have it all over themselves is nothing short of impressive; I can’t even keep inside the lines in a colouring book.

My friend pointed out that if it were us, we’d end up looking like the Joker.

It could be worse, I could be orange.