Marilyn Monroment

Dear Johava’s Witnesses

As you may have noticed when setting up your leaflet stand outside the station this morning, it is a tad windy. Storm Eleanor has hit full force*. The rain on my skylight as I fell asleep last night was lovely, the bluster this morning not so much.

Anyway, what I am trying to say is, sorry for flashing my bum at you as I entered the station. The wind caught my dress in just the wrong** way. Sorry***.

 

 

 

 

* The women storms are always the most powerful apparently, like some kind of meteorological Spice Girl.

** Right?

*** Good job I am wearing massively thick leggings really.

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Book Boyfriend

I spy him across the aisle. Somewhat cute, unconventional but still acceptable*. Then I spot the big, thick package he is touting. Hard and girthy.

It’s a book** which looks suspiciously like one of my favourites*** from the back cover. I can’t be sure, as it is a hard back, and I only own it on Kindle so have never actually seen the back cover.

Still, an attractiveish man who reads? Sign me up! I am in lust, I keep glancing across, maybe I should talk to…

THE BASTARD JUST FOLDED DOWN THE PAGE INSTEAD OF USING A BOOKMARK! ABORT THE FANTASY! PULL BACK! DO NOT ENGAGE!

Some things are unforgivable.

 

 

 

* Like Adam Driver or Benedict cumberbatch – not good looking per say but there is something about them.

** What did you think I was talking about?

*** One of Branden Sanderson’s Stormlight Archive series.

Philanthropist

I have a philanthropic idea: buying a crap ton of cheap headphones to keep in my bag and hand out to people on the train.

Someone on here is listening to Christmas music*. Someone else has some mindnumbing thudding playing. I assume they have forgotten their ear buds and somehow need music playing to sustain their life force**, because they can’t just be obnoxiously rude right?

Right?

Anyway, cheap headphones to hand out. I think it is a winner. Anyone want to bankroll me?

 

 

 

* Christmas music before December should come with a slap to the face.

** Or is it a theme song? Or incidental music? Am I actually a background character in a Netflix Original?

Stop Sitting On Me

An appeal to the people who get my train:

STOP SITTING ON ME!

Yesterday a Cruella DeVille wannabe* literally sat on my thigh as she sat down. Literally. And I don’t say that figuratively. Did she appologise? Ha! Did she heck as like.

Today a camo marshmellow man is persisting on leaning so far over in the seat that I have now twice had to elbow him pointedly to get him to move away**.

Can I just get to work without having to touch another human being please? Unless it’s Thor, although he hasn’t been seen for a while. Sigh…

 

 

 

* Spotted puppy fur coat and sense of entitlement.

** I of course cannot just ask him to stop for I am British. Impoliteness leads to madness.

Mr Yellow Hat

The man opposit me is wearing the worlds most awful yellow hat*.

It is woolen, badly crocheted and clearly aspires to be a bobble hat, but the pompom has about ten strands and looks like it needs putting out of its misery. The yellow is a mustard shade, but not a nice mustard. More American hotdog than French Dijon**.

I don’t know if he is wearing it seriously, ironically, or because someone he loved made it for him and he feels obliged to. Either way, if he falls asleep it might have to accidently disappear…

* Worlds most awful green hat has also been spotted on this train, but it wasn’t ugly enough to make a post about.

** I don’t actually like mustard so feel free to substitute your own preferences.

Entitled Brat

“Mum! Pick me up from beeping* Meadowhall. I’ll be there in ten minutes. You pick him up all the time you can pick me up too. No you…”

Redials

“Mum pick me up from Meadowhall. Put Mum back on the phone. Tell her to pick me up. Tell her to… Tell her…”

Redials

“MUM PICK ME UP FROM MEADOWHALL!”

Entitled Brat is in at least his mid twenties.

I wouldn’t pick him up from Meadowhall either.

* Except he didn’t say beeping…

Rule 63

I have found my rule 63* gender flip doppelganger.

I am wearing a dark denim skirt, Doc Martins**, a black tshirt and a camouflage print jacket, plus a grey slouchy hat.

He is wearing dark denim jeans, Doc Martins***, a black tshirt and a camouflage print jacket, plus a grey slouchy hat.

Either I have met the love of my life, or there is a glitch in the Matrix****

 

* Not to be confused with Rule 34

** Sparkly pastel rainbow ones

*** Not sparkly pastel rainbow ones. Cherry red / maroon ones

**** Probably the latter considering the most action I get these days is random train men falling asleep on me…

Cowpocolypse

The Cows stare threateningly at me through the window.

Leader Cow* is black and white, a cow brute who gave the word to charge the train. Once, long ago, in her calf days, she was an avid train spotter. She especially loved the 8:43 train to Sheffield. Until The Event**. Now, she hates trains. And has spread her hatred to the rest of her herd.

They charge, but are foiled in their attack by the Dry Stone Wall of Power. Once more, they cannot get to the tasty, tasty man flesh inside.

Leader Cow turns her herd, and they stampede away, mooing threateningly at us, the train occupants.

Cowpololypse has been foiled. For now…

*Chaircow of the Cowmittee

** No cow speaks of The Event. Just believe that it is a very mooving story.

Drummer Boy

Dear Drummer Boy

You look at least 30 years old, so I can assume that you have control of your extremities, at least to some extent*, and also the ability to decode the annoyed looks being flashed at you. In case you don’t, let me spell it out for you.

Stop.

The.

Frigging.

Drumming.

You receive points for managing to use your headphones correctly and not inflict your beats on the rest of us in this quiet morning train carriage. You lose all those points for the constant tapping of your fingers against your coffee cup, and irrythmic bashing of your toes against the floor. If you were good it might not be a problem** but you are not. You are just annoying everyone and those looks you keep receiving from people that you smile benignly at are trying to politely tell you to stop, without us having to break the British protocol of passive aggressive confrontation.

No love

The entire train

.

.

.

.

* Even as a Dyspraxic person with only occasional contol of my limbs I can stop them moving if I try just a little.

** I lie, it would still be infuriating AF.

2 kool

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. 

2 kool. 

 

 

 

* His testicles must be huge.