I got the four seat on the train today – yay for leg room!
Sat opposite me is the koolest dude ever. His manspread is the widest of any manspread ever*. He is projecting a studied air of nonchalance, elbow on the window, hand thrust into his hair, carefully constructed smirk on his lips. And he is wearing sunglasses. Kool wrap around ones that look to have cost a fair bit.
It is belting it down with rain outside. There are such thick clouds that I fear I will never see blue sky again. Its pretty goddamned dim.
* His testicles must be huge.
I am all for people having fun and being happy*, but is there any sound in the world more annoying than that of the shrieking teenage girl?
At what age do we change from having the ability to laugh cutely, in a manner which makes everyone around us smile, into a howling banchee whose merriment is of such a piercing tone and high decibel that it makes regular travellers want to pop their own ear drums with the nearest pen**?
What do they shriek at anyway? What on Earth could ellicit that responce? I get terror shrieks, they seem evolutionary sensible, but ain’t no evolving of the human race gonna happen with the happy shriek. Unless there’s some bizarre switch in the teenage boy brain that makes them find it attractive? In which case the gays can inherit the Earth with even more of my blessing if it means I can do the crossword aurally unmolested…
* No really, I promise I am not as curmudgeonly as this blog makes me seem!
** And that would get brain matter all over the sudoko, which nobody wants.
The train carriage is old fashioned today, so everyone is really visible. The seats are those three people ones that force you to get close to your fellow commuters*. There is a sea of dull faces, tired eyes, and (since it is raining outside) black coats and hoods.
Enter a girl. She is obviously quite young. I would say maybe just left college. Hasn’t got that hardened uni student used to treking about on trains look. Her hair is newly dyed bright yellow**. Neon. She keeps playing with it self consciously.
She looked around the carriage and then made a beeline for the seat next to me.
I currently have bright red hair. Neon. I regularly forget what daft colour I have recently broken my hairdressers heart with.
Come child, sit by me, and I will teach you the art of not giving a shit. They are only looking at you because you look awesome anyway. You do you.
* Why do they make these seats? Even if you are travelling as a group of three, you wouldn’t be able to properly converse sat in them. And when three strangers sit on them they are ever so slightly too short for everyone to be entirely comfortable. And don’t even get me started on the middle seat manspreader…
** Memo to self: neon yellow looks fricking amazing. Investigate this colour.
“We are sorry for the delay to this train*, we can’t find the driver. Erm… We have asked someone to find out what is happening. Erm…”
Genuine reason why we are sat on the train, at the platform. Latest reports indicating that the driver is having a wee, a smoke and a cuppa are unsubstantiated. Rumors that the driver was last seen running for the exits yelling “Bugger this for a game of soldiers” have been strenously denied by Northern Rail.
Thank fully I have a Terry’s Chocolate Orange** and a Mango Rubicon for if we are stuck here for the rest of the night…
* Which has been around 20 minutes now.
** And no I will not share. Survival of the fittest and all that.
When the planes hit the towers, it was sad. But it was very far away.
When the van hit the tourists, it was sad. Bit it was still far away.
When the tubes exploded, it was sad. But it was still far enough away.
When the music stopped, it was sad and scary. But even if it was close, there was still distance.
When I walked past armed police to get my train home, it became real.
Stop the world. I want to get off.
Just walked past a guy on the station wearing a ‘Taliban hunting Club’ tshirt. This in a city so close to Manchester.
Don’t Be A Dick today people.
So I have previously written of my scandelous sleeping with a bloke or two on my train before, but I have a confession to make.
I am Bi-trainual.
She had bleach blonde hair like my teenage dreams could only wish for, and a skirt that showed just the right amount of leg*. We exhanged a shy smile as she got on, and before long, her face was drifting towards me, and I knew what was about to happen.
I was shocked, I was amused, I was… strangely moved**. It was much calmer and quieter than my previous forays into this situation, somehow less intimate, more guarded, and with significantly less saliva.
She looks like she is having a right good nap though…
* However much she damn well pleased.
** Because she needed more space as she lolled over.
George is about six years old, based on the pitch of his voice. He is from somewhere down South as he speaks very nice RP English. He doesn’t listen to his Mum* but only because he is so interested in narrating the train journey, not because he is a brat.
So far, we have been reliably informed that this train does not have tables, but it’s ok because it has arm rests which are the best seats to have. We have gone over the world’s tallest railway bridge** and through the world’s darkest railway tunnel. And we have discovered that his little brother’s book, which he can’t read himself, has thousands and thousands and thousands of pages. Posh George is currently deacribing his fantastic new invention the ride has given him the idea for, but I can’t tell you what it is***.
They have only been on for one stop so far. This journey to work could very well be my favourite in ages.
* Hence how we know he is called George. His brother Oliver keeps needing reminding he should sit with his bottom too.
** The darkly intoned ‘Don’t look down’ was both adorable and mildly terrifying.
*** Because he has been talking for five minutes and still hasn’t made it clear what the invention actually is. I think this is a very clever way of stopping me from stealing it and making my millions. Touche Posh George, touche…
I like train couples. They are generally sweet, or at least good for a giggle*. And a reaffirmation of love on a morning or evening is just nice to see. But now I have met Obnoxious Couple I am beginning to rethink my position.
She has the worlds most annoying laugh. It’s like finger nails down a blackboard, only at a much higher pitch of squeel. And he keeps tickling her, pulling on her hijjab**, nuzzling her face, and basically doing all he can to make her laugh. Everyone around them flinches each time.
And they are being so loud! Honestly I don’t know how anyone can be so awake at 8am. I’m still partially comatose. Whatever they had for breakfast I want some.
AND I HAVEN’T EVEN STARTED ON THE KISSING NOISES! Loud smacks and slurps, like an octopus eating a particularly juice steak***. I think I may throw up if they don’t stop.
I love love. Just maybe not before I have had my first cup of tea…
* I hope that Totes Adorbs Hipster Couple are ok. They must have finished Uni cos I haven’t seen them since Summer. I like to think they have a little hipster house together and start each day with avocado on toast and fresh squeezed orange juice in a mason jar, which they Instagram religiously.
** In the current climate I feel the need to clarify, they are not annoying because of their race. They are annoying because they are, as the name suggests, incredibly obnoxious.
*** I assume the steak is manatee, the sea cow.
“You sit there and I will sit here,” Normally Attached Girlfriend states, pointing at the two seats, one behind the other.
“No, I’ll squash on with you to put three of us on this two seater seat,” replies Overly Clingy Boyfriend. “Can you budge up a bit? Yes I know that you are practically sat on that girl’s lap* but heaven forbid we be seperated for even a second. I will clutch your hand in a way that is clearly making you feel uncomfortable** so that you know how much I love and need you and will never let you go. Ever.”
Pass the sick bucket / anti stalker hot line number…
* That would be me.
** I am also uncomfortable too. You are both far too close to me.