Commuting is a blast

Posted on Aug 26, 2014 by headinablender

This morning, as my wife and I squeezed onto the London Underground train, we got separated into different parts of the carriage. My wife ended up halfway down the carriage whereas I ended up near the door literally face to face with a tall blonde girl.

She wasn’t un-pretty (I’m assuming; she was hidden behind some heavily applied make-up) and was stood there not making eye contact with anyone as she pouted and posed among the newspapers and armpits.

In my single days I may have given her a second look, but since meeting my wife every one else comes a distant second. Although cheesy, this is absolutely true and has nothing to do with the fact my wife was:

a) five feet away and
b) reads my blog.

Anyway (moving on swiftly), the train began to pull out of the station and a gentle breeze came through the open window in the door between the carriages. The girl took this opportunity to turn her head to face the window so the wind rushed through her hair as she continued to pose and pout.

It was like watching a Michael Jackson video.

She was loving it.

However, as the train picked up speed, the breeze became everything but gentle. After a few seconds it had reached Hurricane proportions and her pouting was quickly replaced with her squinting eyes and flapping lips like a dog with its head out of a car window at 70 miles per hour.

More amusingly was her hair violently whipping and slapping her in the face, sticking to her make-up and going in her mouth.

“Hwaarrgh!” *Cough cough* “Gaaaak!”

Attractive.

After a couple of minutes the train slowed down for the next station and she finally managed to compose herself, pulling fistfuls of hair from her throat and gagging. As she did this she looked at me and smiled with embarrassment.

“That didn’t go as you expected it to eh?” I said, looking at the make-up that had now slid back to her ears.

“Not really” she wheezed, “I was actually worried for anyone behind me getting hit with my hair!”

“It’s ok” I said, “I think the guy behind you enjoyed it”.

She laughed awkwardly.

“Shame it wasn’t in slow motion.” I continued.

“Like a shampoo advert”, she laughed.

Erm, no.

It was more like a ferret being hit in the face with a tumbleweed.

It’s a question of stupidity, right?

Posted on Apr 29, 2014 by headinablender

Today at work I received an email. Well, to be honest, I received a whole boatload of emails, but this one in particular stood out from the rest.

It was from one of the ladies I work with and it read:

‘Dan, can you do something for me please?’

That was it. No follow up. No elaboration. Just that one, simple, pointless question.

I thought long and hard about it for almost a whole millisecond before typing this reply to her:

‘How am I supposed to answer that?

If I say yes and you ask me to kill a man, then I would feel committed to an act I may not be entirely comfortable with.

If I say no and you ask me to help you cheer up a terminally ill child in hospital, then I would be a heartless bastard.

So I’m going to sit here and soon enough you’ll ask me to do whatever it is you need me to do :-D’

I won’t lie, it wasn’t well received.

But when you think about it, it’s a pretty redundant question. I mean, social etiquette forces me into a corner with this one. The only possible answer I could realistically give is ‘yes’, otherwise I’m just a bit of a cock.

And what then? All she would know is that I am CAPABLE of doing something for her, but with no clue if I would actually DO it. After all, I didn’t know myself IF I’d do it, only that I COULD.

If so inclined.

Which I wasn’t.

Probably.

If a genie were to appear in a puff of smoke and, instead of granting wishes, offered her the answer to any question of her choosing, she would probably reply “what, I can ask any question I want?”

“yes”

> Poof <

This got me thinking of all the redundant questions I’ve been asked in my life. The ones that simply don’t satisfy the basic purpose of a question, which is to gain information or clarity.

I don’t include rhetorical questions in all this because they don’t really require an answer. What would be the point in that?

No, I’m talking about genuine questions I’ve heard in my lifetime that serve no purpose other than to use up more oxygen than brain cells.

For example; “Can I ask you a question?”

It’s a lot like “Dan, can you do something for me please?” in the fact that after the socially required answer of “yes”, you STILL need to ask the question you actually wanted to ask in the first place.

Some picky grammar nazis might say that the question in itself is a paradox because you’re asking someone if you can ask them a question, in a question; therefore leaving the recipent without a choice.

But not me, I would never do that.

And what about; “Are you still reading that book?” when I’m sat there, book in hand, reading it.

No mate, i’m deep frying a chicken.

The same goes for “why are you watching this?” or “how can you eat that?”; both of these can be answered with “because I like it”, or “fuck off”.

Take your pick. Both are effective and surprisingly relevant.

And there’s the multifaceted irritant that is, “Do you know what I mean?”, or “Do you know what i’m saying?”, or “Do you see what i’m getting at?”, or “Does that make sense?”, or “Do you get me?” at the end of practically every sentence.

I can appreciate using it from time to time when speaking to someone at great length. In fact, my job as a trainer requires me to check throughout the day if the content is making sense, but I don’t use it at the end of practically every sentence.

If you’re that unsure the person you’re speaking to knows what you’re saying, either communicate more effectively or shut up.

The latter would be preferable.

Know what I mean?

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.

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?

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.

Miss taken identity

Posted on Jan 8, 2014 by headinablender

I’d been on the train about 20 minutes this morning when a guy got on and sat opposite me. He was short, dumpy with glasses and was wearing a big anorak. To be honest, he looked like Benny Hill.

I sat there for a while with my eyes closed in an attempt to get some sleep. However, I could feel a bat in the cave and desperately needed to pick my nose.

The train stopped again at another station and I open my eyes briefly to see if any women had joined Benny and I before donning my mining helmet.

No women. Just Benny watching something on his tablet.

In went the finger.

Oh yeah, that’s it; that’s what I’m talking about. Don’t run away. Where are you going? Come to daddy. Come on you little fucker….

I opened my eyes again for a second to see if there were any disgusted females around.

Nope, still just Benny.

On I went, like an 80’s ZX Spectrum classic prequel to Jet Set Willy.

(Nerd reference)

Once I was done I settled back in my seat to comfortably drift off to sleep.

After a few minutes I was woken by Benny and his rustling anorak, which was officially the loudest coat I’d ever heard. As he stood up to remove the deafening apparel I got a face full of boobs.

Boobs?

Holy shit, Benny was a Jenny!

He…sorry, she then sat back down and went back to his…sorry, her tablet. I decided it was probably best to close my eyes and continue to ‘sleep’.

In all fairness I could be forgiven for mistaking Jenny for a man. She had short man-hair, a stocky man-like build, unflattering jeans with big man style boots and, when the guard announced that our train was being terminated due to technical difficulties, an ability to let out a massive “Farkin’ ‘ell, what the fark’s that all abaat?” for all to hear.

I suppose it had to be loud to be heard over her coat.

She didn’t care.

She had balls.

Fed Zeppelin

Posted on Dec 23, 2013 by headinablender

The supermarket last night was manic, with last minute Christmas shoppers packing their trollies tight like a hungry alcoholic competition winner on a supermarket dash.

I was regrettably in there because we had run out of alcohol in the house and that’s a sin at any time of the year, let alone Christmas.

After negotiating the badly driven trollies and turkey laden imbeciles with no sense of direction or intelligence, I loaded up my trolley and slalomed my way through the festive fuckwits to the checkouts.

After queuing for an eternity behind knuckle draggers and bickering couples, I finally reached the checkout. I began loading my meagre purchases onto the belt and awaited my “sorry to keep you waiting, would you like some bags?” from the friendly checkout girl.

No, its OK, I’ll just kick my stuff all the way to the car.

Probably not the best approach as these guys were swamped with Chrismassy cretins and their sanity was hanging by a thread.

As I was stood there being thankful that ASDA didn’t sell firearms, I couldn’t help but watch the two women behind me unloading their shopping onto the belt behind mine (and yes, this time there was a divider). They were both rather large ladies, one considerably larger than the other. A lot larger.

I shall call her Zeppelina.

They were placing item after item after item after item onto the checkout which had started creaking under the weight, and I began to wonder if this was their Christmas shop or ‘just the weekly’.

Anyway, after about 5 minutes Zeppelina pulled out an empty chocolate wrapper from their trolley and gave her friend a smile that said, ‘oops, what am I like?’.

A pig?

Zeppelina used this moment to take a breather from the exhaustive nature of what she was doing (as some of those cakes looked quite heavy), and once she’d caught her breath and stopped wheezing she handed the wrapper to her friend and said, “we’ll need to explain that”.

No she won’t.

The accidental pervert

Posted on Dec 2, 2013 by headinablender

The London Underground is a busy place at rush hour; crammed full of people from every walk of life and in every shape, size and colour.

A few days ago I was on the platform at London Victoria underground station awaiting the next sardine tin to arrive and whisk us away. It was the usual scenario of pushing and squashing to get prime position on the platform for the opening doors. The train pulled alongside the platform, the doors opened and we all started to habitually scowl at the people getting off the train.

A scowl that basically says, ‘hurry the fuck up’.

Once the dead weight had alighted the train, the slow motion pushing and shoving began, only to be met with the one fucking twat who still hasn’t disembarked the train.

Why does this happen? Who the fuck forgets to get off the train?

It’s likely they suddenly realised this was their stop (at the last minute) because they were too caught up playing Candy (fucking) Crush.

They are, in fact, complete idiots.

This late, sloth-like exodus by these morons usually reignites the scowl, with a subtle hint of eye rolling and a lot of quiet sighing as we’re forced to slowly move back onto the platform from the much coveted metal flooring of the train. Today was no exception.

Ok, are they out?

Are we sure?

Good.

Puuuuuuuush…..!!!

The slow motion mosh pit resumed and bodies were crushed together like a man’s junk in 80s jeans. It was nuts to butts as we managed to squeeze the last person on, leaving no room to slide a credit card between us. There were armpits in the face and lumps and bumps pressed against lumps and bumps.

But frankly, I didn’t care. I was on the train. So fuck the rest of you. Ha!

I freed one of my hands and reached up to grab a rail in anticipation of the train moving.

At this moment a guy managed to somehow shoehorn himself onto the train before the doors closed, causing a domino effect of squashing that resulted in a woman pressing right up against me.

Now, this isn’t unusual on the underground by any means, but on this occasion she’d managed to effortlessly wedge my other hand against my thigh……with her bum.

It’s worth mentioning that I hadn’t actually noticed at first; fighting to keep my footing and stay upright as the train pulled away. To be honest, if I’d let go of the rail I still wouldn’t have fallen over as there wasn’t space to move. I reckon I could’ve lifted both feet off the ground and still stayed in place, although I may have sunk down like I was in quicksand and I would’ve had a face full of bum.

The train had started to shake and jerk around like it usually does, which is when I realised that I had a bum rubbing left and right against the back of my hand. This would’ve been tolerable if she’d been a 21 year old model, but not if she was a 55 year old geography teacher.

But i’m a happily married man, so I use the word ‘tolerable’ loosely.

(Ahem)

Anyway, I could clearly make out the bum cleft on each pass of her buttocks across my hand. I could make out the shape and density of each cheek as it swayed left, then right, then left; over and over again like she was Miley Cyrus and I was Robin Thicke.

The certainty I had of being able to pick out the subtle distinctions in the shape of her bum left me realising the cold, unnerving truth; this granny was either wearing a thong…or nothing.

(Shudder)

I was also very aware that my hand was so wedged in that I would’ve had to pull really hard to remove it, alerting her to the fact that it was my hand and not some random bag or something. Also, considering it had been wedged in there at least 45 seconds at this point, I would’ve been considered a bit of a pervert for not moving it sooner.

That would’ve resulted in an entirely different type of scowl.

So I could do nothing but stand there for the next two minutes, copping a feel against my will, with very distinguishable buttocks rubbing seductively against me by an unattractive old woman who had no idea she was doing it.

I washed my hands a lot when I got to work.

All aboard….chew chew!

Posted on Nov 28, 2013 by headinablender

A large woman has just sat down next to me on the train.

Well I say ‘next to me’, but it’s more like ‘next to me and a little bit on me too’

Anyway, she’s whipped out a note book and opened it, revealing a food diary.

I’m always proud of people making the effort to lose weight. Over the last 2 or 3 years I’ve lost 5 stone (70 pounds) in weight and it’s been both a physical and mental struggle. Those who know me have seen my transformation and I have always appreciated the kind words and encouragement. It takes a lot to make the active decision to change your life and say “enough is enough”.

So good for her.

As she fumbles for a pen in her bag I glance over and see the words ‘hot dog fingers with ketchup’ and ‘pack of sausage rolls’ amongst many others.

Fat cow.

Checkout challenge

Posted on Nov 7, 2013 by headinablender

The self service checkouts at ASDA were an experience last night. We thought it would be so easy with my wife scanning the items and me packing them into bags.

I pressed ‘Start’ and we were greeted by a friendly female voice.

“WELCOME. PLEASE SCAN YOUR FIRST ITEM”

That’s nice. My wife picked up the first item to scan it and….

“UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA”

Unexpected? It’s a bagging area and they’re my canvas shopping bags (from this very supermarket), so if anything they’re completely expected. Calm down love.

I picked up the bags and put them down again in the hope that this impatient piece of tech would realise the additional weight is just bags. You know, being a ‘bagging’ area and all.

“UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA”

Oh for fucks sake, “Excuse me!”

I called over a female member of staff who inserted a key and typed in a passcode to allow us the luxury of continuing with the combined weight of the canvas bags in the bagging area

“PLEASE SCAN YOUR FIRST ITEM”

Finally!

(Beep)

“PLEASE PLACE YOUR ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA”

Jesus, give me a second will you?

(Beep)

“PLEASE PLACE YOUR ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA”

Yeah yeah, I’m just playing Tetris with our shopping so they fit in the bags better. She’s more passive aggressive than GLaDOS!*

“PLEASE PLACE YOUR ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA”

Alright! Hang on!

(Beep)

“UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA”

What the…? “Excuse me!”

The member of staff was summoned again. We got to know her quite well by the time the evening was through.

Just as she reached the checkout, the error message disappeared. “Oh, never mind. It seems to have figured it out”. I sent her away again.

(Beep)

“PLEASE PLACE YOUR ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA”

Grrr!

“UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA”

Eh? I’ve just bagged it. Ok, I’ll take it out again.

“PLEASE PLACE YOUR ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA”

What? Fine! I’ll put it back in again.

“UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA”

“Excuse me!”

Back she came, with the same look in her eyes of a parent whose child just will…not…stop…crying.

(Beep)

Uh oh. We’d filled the first three bags and had no more room for the rest of our shopping. I needed to remove the filled bags to make space for new empty ones, but this stroppy piece of machinery might blow a fuse. Shall I call our new friend over? Nah, maybe the machine will figure it out.

I removed the bags. It didn’t figure it out.

“PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE”

Oh, we will.

Back she came with her key and passcode; a tear trickling down her cheek.

“Thanks”.

She smiled, sort of.

(Beep)

“UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA”

Fucking bags.

Key. Passcode.

This time our friend left the checkout in ‘staff override’ so it stopped whining about weight and how long we were taking. I suppose ‘male mode’ was considered a little sexist.

We finished the shopping and paid.

No issues with that I noticed.

* One for the gamers.

Commuting is the pits

Posted on Oct 30, 2013 by headinablender

Body odour on the London underground should be punishable by death.

Or a bath.

As soon as the acrid stench filled my nose (and those of the other sardines packed in the tin with me), the very attractive, tall blonde to my left looked at me and I suddenly realised she may think the niff is coming from me.

Don’t get me wrong here…I’m a happily married man, but that doesn’t mean I’m content with this woman thinking I smell like an armpit.

And it was a STRONG smell; the type that had been fermenting for a long, long time.

So I did what anyone would do in a situation like this, I held my fist under my nose in a theatrical attempt to indicate it WASN’T me. Basically I was miming “Pheeeuw! What is that noxious smell? It’s clearly not me as I’m attempting to mask it. See, I’m very obviously attempting to mask it with my fist and the inside of my jacket, so it’s obviously not me!”

Everyone was shiftily looking around trying to figure out who the culprit was, like some kind of silent game of Cluedo.

Luckily, whenever the train started moving it wafted the fetid stink through the carriage like a stagnant curry fart under a disturbed duvet.

I think it was Professor Pong, on the tube, with the empty can of deodorant.

Or the blonde.

The customer is(n’t) always (b)right

Posted on Oct 22, 2013 by headinablender

You know when you call a company and the automated voice explains that your call may be recorded for training and quality purposes? Well, I’m the person who listens to those calls.

Here is an interaction between one of our sales team (let’s call her Sandy) and a female customer.

Woman “I’m interested in getting some information about a holiday to Dubai”

Sandy “Let me check that for you, what date are you looking to travel?”

Woman “I can’t hear you very well, you’re very faint”

Sandy “Ok, give me one second”

* loud and crackly sounds of a telephone headset being furiously fumbled with and adjusted*

Sandy “Is that better?”

Woman “Yes that’s a bit better”

Sandy “Oh lovely, ok so what dates….”

*interrupted by the customer*

Woman “No, I still can’t hear you that well”

*fumble, crackle, fumble*

Sandy “How’s that?”

Woman “You’re still quite faint”

*fumble, fumble, crackle, fumble*

Sandy “OK, IS THAT ANY BETTER?” (She’s almost shouting now)

Woman “Yes, that’s a bit better”

Sandy “OK GREAT, SO WHAT DATES….”

*interrupted by the customer*

Woman “Hang on, I’ll just turn my radio down”

Proof that stupidity still lives amongst us.

Toys, taxis and tourettes

Posted on Oct 11, 2013 by headinablender

I’ve just been for a wander in London, mostly to get out of the office for some fresh air and to stretch my legs.

My travels took me to ‘Forbidden Planet’; a Mecca to geeks up and down the country, selling all sorts of film, gaming and comic memorabilia.

I passed a couple with their young son who was holding a life size replica of the portal gun from Aperture Laboratories, made famous by the game ‘Portal’. Awesome!

As I got nearer I heard the dad telling the boy that he couldn’t have it. This is fair enough, but the kid was already holding it in his arms. At least tell the boy BEFORE you’ve watched him carefully pick it up off the shelf and hold it lovingly in his arms like a puppy, you turd.

He pleaded with his dad, but the answer was no.

“How about a foam sword son?”

“How about you suck my hairless balls dad?”

I mooched around the shop for a bit, dribbling over Star Wars stuff, before heading back out into the rain.

As I got to Tottenham Court road I saw a woman in a suit hail a taxi from the kerb. She threw her arm up like an enthusiastic pupil answering a classroom question and the cab pulled over sharply. She hop, skipped and jumped the deepening puddles towards the taxi door only to stop, turn back and shout “for fucks sake!” at the top of her lungs.

This turned a few heads.

It seems three Chinese students had beaten her to the taxi, and as it sped off she angrily attempted to hail another one. This time she looked less like a pupil and more like a Nazi.

To top all this off I saw a skinny little man with a massive beard waiting to cross the road; shouting and arguing with the traffic lights, the pavement and the corner of the pub. Despite it being one of the busiest cities in the world, there didn’t seem to be anyone else needing to cross the road at that moment.

Weird.

Phlegm fatale

Posted on Sep 25, 2013 by headinablender

On the London Underground this morning I was watching a woman sat down, meticulously adjusting her hair in a small hand-held mirror.

This little bit back there; this bit brought forward etc…

She was being very thorough and at one stage appeared to be struggling to get one part of her hair to go where she wanted it to. This may be because the train was being jostled left and right vigorously, but it’s likely because gravity actually exists.

Suddenly she stopped and looked up, like a deer hearing a twig snap in the quiet wood or that realisation that you’ve probably left the iron on at home. She was motionless, looking directly forward with intent and concern at no-one in particular.

“Atchoo!!”

She sneezed into her hand. The hand she then re-applied to her hair.

I always thought sneezes were unpredictable and unintentional, but her (now ‘gravity defying’) hair would suggest otherwise.

A rosy outlook on life

Posted on Sep 18, 2013 by headinablender

Earlier today one of the lovely ladies on reception at work offered me a small chocolate chip from her bag of granola.

Being on a diet (of sorts), I declined.

At this point she paused for a second, held it closer to me and said in the most serious face she could muster, “actually it’s a rabbit poo”.

This immediately caused me to grin and I replied with, “well in that case, I’ll have one. I prefer rabbit poo anyway as they’re more nutritious and full of fibre”.

The other lady on reception looked at me in disbelief; mouth open and nose wrinkled.

“Why are you like that?” she asked, slightly bemused.

“Like what?” I asked innocently, knowing what she meant.

“Like that; saying you’d rather eat rabbit poo”.

“Because”, I replied, “it’s funny”

What’s even funnier is the fact that I know she’s reading through my blog today.

It’s all in the voice

Posted on Sep 17, 2013 by headinablender

The woman on the table across the aisle from me has done nothing but whine on the phone about the delayed train we’re sat on.

I can’t see her because of the rather ‘stinking of booze’ mountain of a man sat directly next to me chugging wine from a selection of mini bottles in his satchel, but she’s really getting on my tits.

I imagine from her chavvy voice that she’s a bit grubby with lank greasy hair scraped back from her fat, spotty, fuck ugly face.

I look over.

It’s a little skinny man in a suit.

P’ass’

Posted on Sep 9, 2013 by headinablender

Tonight at Victoria train station there was the usual rush to be the first at the platform 100 metres away despite the trains not actually leaving for another 8-10 minutes.

As usual there were all sorts of ‘people’ (I use the term loosely) moving at different speeds and, oddly, in different directions towards the same platforms.

I’m 6ft tall and have a pretty hefty pace going on, but I could feel the presence of someone desperately trying to overtake me. I say I could ‘feel’ the presence but in actual fact I could blatantly see her from the corner of my eye as she took up more room in my peripheral vision than was necessary.

This woman was big. I mean BIG.

I’m not racist and therefore I’m going to be sensitive in describing her without causing offence. In an attempt to be ambiguous and vague I’m going to refer to her as Shaniqua.

She was puffing along on my left and, not wanting to be a hypocrite by becoming one of these people…

https://headinablender.wordpress.com/2012/10/31/to-pass-or-not-to-pass/

…I moved slightly to the right allowing her to pass.

She bumped into me, possibly to indicate she was in a hurry and I was in her way, but probably because I could’ve moved 8 metres to my right and she still would’ve collided with me due to lack of space.

She was a big girl.

Once she’d barged me she muttered something like, “fucking come on!” and starting jogging slightly.

Well, I SAY jogging….

Picture this, she was a BIG girl and was wearing a very SMALL tight white dress with a VERY visible white thong underneath.

I know that thongs visible above jeans are sometimes affectionately referred to as a ‘whale tail’, but this one was to scale.

1:1

And it was screaming for help.

So when I say jog, take a moment to think about that.

Got it?

Ok… I’ll carry on.

Her ‘jog’ lasted about 2.5 seconds (which coincidentally was about the same distance in metres) before she went back to a walking pace; a pace that was 95% slower than mine.

I passed her again in about 4 seconds. I had to walk an extra 12 metres around her to do it, but in no time I was ahead of her again.

Bummer.

Grab a seat

Posted on Sep 6, 2013 by headinablender

I was sat on the train next to the window. There was a woman sat to my left reading a book on her Kindle. The train was packed and there were people stood all the way down the aisles.

At one point the train started to leave Clapham Junction station and then abruptly stopped. The law of Inertia did its thing and threw a man onto the lap of the woman sat next to me.

She instinctively put her hands up to catch him and she succeeded, resulting in her holding his arse perfectly with a buttock lovingly held in each hand.

Is there anything more funny than a perfect and accidental full on arse grab? I don’t think so.

Without removing her hands she pushed him back to his feet and he said, “I’m so sorry!”

She said, “That’s ok”, but it clearly wasn’t.

Her Kindle wasn’t the only thing that was re(a)d.

It’s not all work, work, work

Posted on Aug 30, 2013 by headinablender

A woman gets on the train with her friend. They natter for a bit and then the conversation stops as the woman gets out her laptop and starts typing furiously.

A lot of people do work on the train; I see it every day. Excel, PowerPoint, Word, emails…. it’s never ending.

I wonder what she’s working on. I can’t see properly because of the sunshine glaring on her screen. Whatever it is it must be important; she has a serious look on her face and her fingers are a blur on the keyboard.

Suddenly we enter a tunnel and the glare is taken away.

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