Doggy Style

So, I hadn't planned on writing tonight.  My journey today was another uneventful commute.  I've managed to get a copy of Metro for the past few days so I've turned into a loud page turning bastard.  I did end up face planting someone earlier.  I hate when people wander in to the station and walk slowly across the foyer, then stop suddenly and crane their neck up at the boards to check the times.  A quick glance up is fine.  After 10 minutes, your taking the piss mate.

I generally know what time my train leaves, the general platform and what way to go.  Now this is obviously because I am a seasoned commuter.  But what I can also do, is look at a board and walk in the general direction of the ticket barrier.  However, when I'm walking and fiddling around with my BlackBerry I cannot see when you decide to stop right in front of me.  I rather think that nose print suits the back of your tracksuit.  Must exfoliate face this evening.

So, just a quick update.  I find myself back at the platform for the journey home, electing to wait inside as its very chilly out.  At least I don't have air conditioned tights today.  The waiting area is pretty empty, just one other guy sitting opposite me.  A business man type, respectable looking.

Away in my own little world day dreaming of a day when I can get driven to work in a blacked out Merceedes, not really paying any attention to what's around me and fully engrossed in Ben Howard singing sweetly into my ear.  Definitley a good thing I don't have air conditioned tights.  Then, out of nowhere, Baaaa...BUMMMM.  What the hell?  I look around for someone playing the tuba, but there is no sign of a brass band approaching.  I wonder if my commute has finally driven me insane.  NO!  I hear it again, there it is.  A deep bass sound, then followed by a melodic hum.  I turn round and see my respectable business man is rocking in his chair conducting an imaginary orchestra.  I recognise the tune but can't quite name it.  I burst out laughing initally, loudly.  It's awkward, it's just me and this guy and I've pretty much laughed in his face.  I quickly scour the ground for a scruffy hat or guitar case in case he expects coins.  There is none.  There's no dog or handmade "will impersonate tubas for food" sign either.

I sit there, my jaw loosens and hits the floor.  I am incredulous and can't quite believe the scene unfolding before me.  I quickly snap out my blackberry and try to film as covertly as possible, but it's really difficult without getting spotted.  I'm nervous as it's just me and him and its totally obvious that I'm filming.  I hope I've managed to pick up the sound, probably turn the volume to catch the musical prodigy at work.  I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself laughing out loud again.  Sadly, I haven't caught the best bit of this, but if you listen closely, you will hear the BAAAA BUMMM!

I finally realise what song he's singing, it's "how much is that doggy in the window...baaaaa.. BUMMM"  What a beautiful rendition.  More people sit down, but he doesn't stop.  But I do have to stop filming.  My blogs been getting loads of traffic and I don't want to draw attention to myself!  I try to get a closer look at Respectable Businessman and realise that all is not as it seems.  He has scruffy hair, and stubble, not deal breakers but hardly acceptable in the likes of Citi or Lloyds.  He looks like he's been out on the randan all day, maybe he has.  His eyes are like pissholes in the snow.

I should have known that all was not what it seems.  The icing on the cake is when he throws his hands in the air, the big finale, BUMMMMMMMMMMM!  Then slices his hands through the air as if to silence his orchestra, clears his throat and then makes his way on to the train.

I think the commute has claimed its first victim.  Shoulda started a blog mate, saving sanity since 2012.

A. Passenger

Suits You Sir

Another evening update, live from Platform 8! This morning was a fairly uneventful journey, nothing of real note which was nice to travel in relative peace and quiet for a change. The only thing that offended me was on the walk to the station.  I saw this hippy mum carrying a little girl walking towards me. She seemed to be struggling to carry the child.  As I get closer, I realise she isn't walking towards me and that she is actually holding a squatting child as she takes a piss in the middle of the street.  That's exactly what I wanted to see at 8 o'clock in the morning.  Some people have no manners.  Didn't she ask the child if she needed to urinate before they left the house?

This reminds me of another story which is disgusting and hilarious.  I was at a music festival a few years ago, it was very muddy as per the lovely British weather.  In between acts, we were standing, chilling, drinking cider as you do. All of a sudden a group of people surrounded this one girl.  I feared for her life for a split second and wondered if I should help the poor lass and fend off the attackers. In my drunken cider state, I felt like I could go Jackie Chan on their asses.  Realisation dawned as she too squatted and took a piss in the mud.  The worst thing was hearing it splatter and dribble.  The best bit was when she lost her balance and fell backwards into her own concoction of mud and piss.  It was a beautiful moment. Anyway, the pissing child was the only real thing of note this morning.  It was a semi relaxing journey to work and I managed to get a copy of the Metro and turned the pages really loudly.

So now I'm back on the platform for the journey home, its quite sunny.  I just wish this weather would last.  I can never seem to decide what to wear.  It was beautiful this morning, then rained in the afternoon, then got really warm again.  It wasn't a day for thick tights, but not to worry. I managed to rip them right at the crotch this afternoon, fresh air for the beaver.  Thank god I didn't wear the crotchless pants this morning as well.  Going up stairs may be an issue. 

I spot tons of Potter fans again, there's a gang of about 15 girls and I'm tempted to take a picture for you all.  Perhaps I better not, some of them look very young and I don't want to end up on a list somewhere.  Mind you, for being so young, the outfits are shocking! If I had kids I'd never let them go out dressed like extras from The Rocky Horror Show.  I feel like shouting across the platform "a skirt would go lovely with that belt!"  I swear I caught a glimpse of flap.  I feel old and disgusted all at once.

Train is early today which is a turn up for the books.  I'm on, my carriage is really quiet and I get a whole section to myself!  I even sneakily put my feet up on the seats.  I know, its naughty, but I have a recovering ankle that needs to be elevated, so don't judge me. Sitting, watching the landscape whizz by.  We stop at a station and a business man gets on my carriage. Its still empty, there are even window seats with tables available.   The Suit walks by me and up to the entrance to the first class carriage. Very fucking posh.   He presses the button to open the door and nothing happens.   I grin outwardly. 

He pushes again, still nothing. I now have a beaming smile.   A quizzical look creases across his face and he continues to push the button and stare at the uncooperative door. That door is staying firmly shut.   Perhaps the door is offended by your cheap polyester Primark suit, Sir.  Each attempt results in more frantic finger pushing.  Which is then followed by a slump of the hips and a shrugging of the shoulders which is then followed by quiet snickering my me. I don't get the point of paying for first class on the daily commute?   I mean, there's less likely to be chavs, FPG's and the like.  But more chance of Blackberry tappers, laptop hammerers, and loud conversationalists "Yes, hmm get Shelia to type up the minutes from the Smith merger at once"  How about I merge your face with the wall. 

I once gazed in wonder when the doors were open for an exceptionally long time and saw what life could be like up in first class. I'm not sure if its worth it. I saw a guy having a conversation with a Bluetooth headset. Seriously? your on a train, which requires no hands. Unless there's a particularly sharp deviation on the track. But I hear in first class they have people on jobseekers and those earning under £60k a year running along side the tracks to stop the first class carriage rocking.

Even though we've left the station he got on at, he's still standing at the first class door not quite sure what to do. Should he sit down among us minions, should he knock on the door and ask one of his fellow ponces to let him in, or is that a dent in pride?   Finally after 15 minutes of trying the button, he slumps to the seat opposite me.   He looks terrified.   I almost feel sorry for himself. He doesn't know quite what to do with himself.   The table seems smaller and he struggles to fit his broadsheet across it.   How will he manage to do the giant crossword at the back?   Two down is "TWAT"

At the next stop a fellow Ponce exits the first class carriage through to the minion section, The Suit spots his opportunity and jumps up from his seat.   Him and his fellow Ponce exchange a glance. Some Masonic-esque secret code as if to say, I was in trouble help me out mate?   He dives through to the the First Class section and I see him sit down and breath a sign of relief in familiar surroundings and mop his brow with his monogrammed hankerchief Chuckle chuckle.   I find it all highly amusing. 

I continue with my gazing out the window watching my word whizz by as yet another station comes into view.   I watch the suit get up and exit the carriage and the train and make his way through the station. Really mate?   Was it worth that 5 minutes in First?   Oh damn, you got off just after the bare chested woman started serving canapes. Shame.

Tomorrow I'm gonna superglue the door shut and piss myself like that child this morning.

A. Passenger

Pottering Around

Blogging yet again live from platform 8 eagerly awaiting my carriage home. I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, in desperate need of a wee and sick fucking fed up of the volume of people squeezing through my platform. 

To the organisers of the Harry Potter Studio tour.  Fuck you.  Every evening I arrive to packed platforms, squished overheating trains and hoardes of pre pubescent teens and mothers wearing long floaty skirts and moustaches.  Its not fun, really its not.   Giddy teenagers and damp at the crotch mothers eager to catch a glimpse of Harry's wand.  Call me the Golden snitch, but its not fucking real?! Harry Potter, who.. The guy who got naked on the West End and fantasised about horses? 

I've waited about 10 minutes to get through the barrier, there are only 2.  For a major mainline station?  Nice one . I then have to endure another 10 minute wait to get up the stairs to my platform to let people get down.  Waiting patiently remembering my own rule of letting people off the train before getting on.  After 10 minutes, said rule is screwed and I force my way through the crowd.   I really think this tour thing needs its own station. How about, all trains departing from platform 9 and fuck off eh?

A phone call from a friend lifts my mood and I chew the fat for a bit. There are loads of delays but what can I do, its par for the course these days. Cannot WAIT for the Olympics to start. Turns out some poor soul has been hit by a train. I hope it wasn't FPG after eyeballing me this morning.  I'd miss my nemesis.

There's this one member of staff at this station who LOVES the sound of her voice on the intercom.  She's ruining a perfectly good conversation.  You may have realised that I have a complete inability to zone out so I'm listening to her waffling on as well as my friend and its not a good combo. I say to my friend, "Mate, can I call you back, I can't hear a word over this fucking bitch who loves the sound of her own voice".  I hang up and realise I've said that rather loudly and everyone is now staring at me. I have rather poor hearing so I assume everyone else then has. Reign it in, reign it in

Oh hear she goes again, every little movement within a train station does not require an announcement! Train at platform 8 approaching, fair enough. Delay on platform 6, fair enough.  Just frigged myself in the staff room listening to myself on recording.  Too far.

Train has just pulled into the platform, I wait for people to empty and get on.  Its still packed, I'm going to have to stand.  A train journey standing, movement, trying to retain balance on a recently fractured and recovering ankle.  Brilliant.  Maybe tomorrow I should dig my crutches out. Surely I'd be escorted through such a busy station?  Still maybe its an extra session with Mr FIT physiotherapist who has an amazing 6-pack.  I know this because my feet have felt it whilst they were pressed against that rock hard chest testing my suppleness. 

Every cloud eh?

A. Passenger

Full Fry Up

Another day, another glorious ride on London Midland rail. Oh the joys and blessings bestowed upon me.

I had every intention of going to work early but I was just too tired to make the 0646 so here I am, yet again waiting on the 0824. I've been lucky enough to get a lift to the station this morning so I'm over the moon that I've managed to avoid hippy mums, screaming brats, fag smoke trailers and general idiots.

I've arrived and my train isn't for 15 minutes and I need to renew my season ticket. There's only 2 people in the queue at the booth so I dutifully stand in line and wait patiently. I keep waiting, and waiting.. Seriously? There is one booth open and I see the woman behind fumbling with her sausage fingers typing in station codes and sipping a massive cup of coffee. Maybe put a few more shots of espresso in there love, I've got a train to catch.

I'm still standing in line and now I'm getting really pissed off. The massive station clock overhead flips over the minutes and I'm increasingly anxious. I make all the right noises for an impatient "far too important to stand in line" commuter. I tap my foot, roll my eyes and tut loudly as if somehow it will make the line go quicker, it doesn't.

The guy waiting patiently on his ticket realises that he actually has to pay for the benefit of this magical train journey. Fumbling around in his RAF rucksack he manages to produce a wallet, hurrah! Fucking hell people, why is it a revelation to you all that when you ask for a service, you have to pay? This annoys me across all walks of life and not just station life! Yummy mummies in Waitrose, "Oh hang on yah, what I have to paaaay for these olives and foccacia yah? Rupert, hand mummy the diamond Amex please, tut". Anyway, how fucking expensive is Waitrose? I blew my weekly shopping budget on chocolate chip shortbread, crisps and orange juice.

Anyway, I digress once again. I'm still waiting in line for sausage fingers to produce a valid ticket for travel and for rucksack guy to produce valid sterling for said goods. I don't think he's actually in the RAF, otherwise I'm sure I'd show a bit more patience. I bet he bought the rucksack of eBay. My tuts get louder and my foot tapping becomes more frantic which isn't good for my healing ankle. Oh fucking great, its a debit card payment. In the card reader, that's it, clever boy. Lest we forget our pin number! At last, Rucksack is done and ready for travel. I shuffle down the queue very aware that I only have a few minutes til my train. I stare at sausage fingers willing her to look up at me. She does. I bore my eyes right into her and they say "will you hurry the fuck up". It seems to work as magically one of the blinds on the other booth rolls up and a small ancient member of staff sheepishly pokes her head out and beckons me forward. I huffily stomp forward and grunt that my ticket needs renewed and before she's even typed it in I've thrust the money through the slot smugly as if to say "yeah, I've been here before. I know how this shit works, fucking ticket now. Please"

I spy at the corner of her mouth a blob of what I think is tomato ketchup. So whilst I've been tutting and eye-rolling in line, she's been stuffing her face on bacon or sausage rolls. I wonder what sausage fingers had or did she just lick her own fingers? Great, so I've got the full fucking fry up.  I'm not outwardly rude to staff members, I would never shout or abuse them. I just quietly seethe with rage and inwardly plot how I can seek revenge. Its just occurred to me that if anything ever happens to anyone mentioned on this blog, then I'm pretty much screwed.

Money and ticket exchanged, I storm towards the platform with about a minute to spare. I'm standing next to this woman, who I can only assume bathed in perfume and coconuts this morning. This is a SUPER day. Why douse yorself in SO much fragrance? My head begins to pound, I fucking hate strong smells. Again with the tutting and eye-rolling, but she moves away. Maybe I smell? Totally hating life today! Still could be worse. My friend is on a train somewhere in London cursing her own shitty day after spending 2 weeks on a beach in Spain. Sorry, I have no sympathy.

At fucking last, train is here. I wait patiently for the doors to open and I spot FPG! He actually eyeballs me! Now, this could be because I'm looking particularly fine this morning. Or, it could also be because he's spotted himself on my blog. Surely not, really? I mean I've been getting a lot of traffic. Could he know it was me? Is the fact that I'm frantically tapping on my Blackberry a giveaway sign?

I scurry onto the train and AVOID him like the plague, he's still looking at me! He knows! Well if he reads this blog then he definitely knows! Well mother fucker, serves you right for eating like you have something wrong with you.
Finally sitting down I sigh. Drama done. Now all I've got to do is contend with extremely loud Metro page turner. Perhaps you'd like me to stand next to you with a loudspeaker so the whole train can hear you?  Dick.

A. Passenger

Fruit Pastille Guy



Man's Best Friend

Well, I'm off for a week.  Sweet bliss, no having to face my idiot fellow commuters in the morning and at night!  Unless I elect to go somewhere that requires a train journey.  Of course you can guarantee that I will avoid rush hour at all costs.

I thought I'd enlighten you all as to who Fruit Pastille Guy is.  Now, quite a few of you have seen the video on my Facebook wall but I thought I'd provide a bit of background chatter on this knob.

There I was, as per usual on the platform waiting for the 8:24.  This was a few weeks ago, earbuds were working fine, iPod was fully charged, the sun was shining.  My mood was okay (ish)  My walk to the station was a tad fraught though as I was running late so walking very quickly.  My recent ankle fracture meant that I looked like I had one leg shorter than the other as I scurried down the hill like an extra from Lord of The Rings.  I ran in to a few annoying characters along the way who felt the full wrath of my steely glare.  Namely the hippy mother with about 12 kids who clearly believed that discipline was for the stuffy parent types.  You mean the parents who can actually be ARSED to raise kids properly instead of letting them run up and down the pavement, swinging school bags in the air and wearing their jackets like capes and screeching loudly.  I bet their lunchboxes are full of tofu, bean salad and nuts.  Poor bastards.  Maybe I should have slipped them a bag of tangy toms?

There was also the chain smoking speed walker who I just couldn't seem to escape.  Anyone who knows me, knows how much I HATE cigarettes.  I mean, if people smoke, it's fine.  I just really don't want to inhale its foul smell.  There was this one stupid boot who smoked about 6 cigarettes in the space of a 10 minute walk.  I felt the full backlash of her smoke trail as I walked behind her.  No matter how hard I tried I couldn't seem to escape the blue smoke trail, it seemed to follow me.  I tried in vain to overtake her, but my hobbit legs couldn't build up enough speed to get past her, continue the pace and escape the trail.  So there I am, zig-zagging along the pavement.  I look like an out of breath dowser, "Tharrrs water under here, I'm surrrre!"  I'm resigned to the fact that I'll arrive at the station stinking of John Player Special and Cancer.

Anyway, I majorly digress.  The platform is quite empty, I'm glad as my walk has been less than enjoyable.  I'm too wired to really notice anything around me and my train pulls in right on cue.  Storming on, the carriage is practically empty.  Table seat in the direction of travel it is then.  I close my eyes and lean my head against the window and sigh outwardly.  I'm quite relaxed considering.  I sense someone sit opposite me but my music is too soothing and I don't feel the need to open my eyes and glare at this intruder.  The train pulls away, and my playlist comes to an end.  I sit for a few seconds in internal silence.  Then I hear it.  My eyes fly open and I see the man sitting opposite me.    He looks like a a trainspotting extra.  Heavy looking eyes, a bit dopey.  I bet he speaks like Yogi Bear.

I'm more interested in the noise that is coming from him.  I say interested, I mean appalled.  He has a large bag of fruit pastilles in his hand.  The noise as he roots around in the bag with his paw is deafening.  It's like he feels the sweets in there, but his hand doesn't quite like the feel of a particular one.  So he roots around some more, ah.. there we go.  I watch in what seems like slow motion as the sweet travels through the air and into the cavernous space otherwise known as his mouth.  He has huge lips, I mean really huge.  For some reason I image what he's like as a kisser and my stomach recoils.  What a slobbering mess, and I bet his tongue would take the plaque of your teeth.  That's your scale and polish sorted for the year.

He seems to place the sweet at the back of his tongue and begins to chew and those massive lips begin to smack around.  I think I can feel a small breeze from his gob.  He chews and chews and it sounds like my washing machine at home.  If I chucked a dirty sock in there, it would come out pristine.  And fruity smelling too.  I sit there and my mouth forms an O shape.  I am actually incredulous, I cannot believe that this disgusting filthbag thinks its acceptable to eat like this.  I've said it before, Train Chompers are a bunch of bastards.  My jaw hits the deck and GLARE at him.  Even my music won't block out this.  I mean, it will.. but I'll still KNOW he's chomping away.  That's it.  I have no option but to glare.  This is unreal.

In order to deal with my blood boiling rage, I decide to film him on my Blackberry.  It's the only way.  The bag is nearing its end so I whip out my phone and try to discreetly film him.  I whistle casually and look in every other direction so as to appear normal.  Fuck this is easy.  I could have been in MI5.

I mean look at this CUNT!  That isn't even the worst of it, I've captured a few seconds of what was 20 minutes of utter torture.  This will stay with me for a long time.  I curse my bad luck.  On a practically deserted carriage, he decides to sit next to me, WHY?  I mean obviously my warm and friendly disposition.  I radiate "approachable"  And yes, I dropped the "C-Bomb" back there.  I'm sorry if I offended anyone, but it has to be one of my favourite words.  It's very effective in situations such as this.

I think I've left my body, I am spitting imaginary feathers, bunching my fists and imagining how satisfying it would be to take a cheese grater to those lips.  So engrossed, I nearly miss my stop.  I'm disappointed to be getting off as I'd like to stare at him some more and tut loudly and wave my hand around the carriage, wide eyed, nodding my head to the rest of the carriage in a Goodfellas style voice saying "This guy, right?!!??"

If he gets on my train again, I'ma stab him.

A. Passenger.

Sliding Doors

Another day, another exciting train journey home.  It's pissing it down with rain, and I mean chucking it down.  Train stations in the rain make me nervous.  I am quite uncoordinated and rather accident prone and that coupled with too many slippery surfaces is not a good combination.

The only thing the rain does is to calm my frantic charging past idiot commuters and shuffle slowly across the tiles as I repeat a mantra to myself NOT to slip.  Naturally no one is standing outside, the platform is quiet, everyone opts to stay inside.  Which is fine with me as I head outside to wait in the rain as I really hate my fellow commuters.

Now what really fucking annoys me about waiting on a platform... the doors open.  If you are waiting to get on, you generally display manners and wait for people to get off the train before alighting yourself.  You also expect that same courtesy when you disembark said carriage.  Well, really its quite simple.  This obviously fails to register in the brains of this group of about 20 neanderthals who are crowding round this tiny door, gazing expectantly, grunting and fidgeting eager to push past people.  I am right at the front eager myself but I wait patiently displaying MANNERS.  I can feel this one whore behind me gradually nudging me closer and closer to the edge.  I'm sorry love but I'm well past the yellow line now, and the man on the loudspeaker says your supposed to stay behind that.  I have visions of me slipping down the the gap that you always get warned about, especially now its wet!  If I fall down it and accidentally roundhouse kick you square in the jaw, then its your fault love!

Not my photo - but sums up my point! 

Every time she tries to nudge me or move round me, I move.  I'm sorry but we are ALL probably going to get on the train.  If you have some special need to get on first, such as a crutch, or are with child then say and I'll gladly let you on before me.  However I suspect you simply want to get on so you can get a seat out the way where you can gleefuly devour the contents of the brown paper bag you hold in your hand like a fucking trophy.  Train chompers.  Now there's a group of bastards.

Once one group of neanderthals have emptied from the carriage, I purposely get on super slow so as to annoy Chomper behind me and wander idly down the aisle to find a free seat.  High-fiving my good luck, I find a table seat at the window in the right direction!  This might be okay I'm thinking as I swiftly aim my arse in the general direction of the free seat.  Sitting down, right direction with a free magazine that someones left behind.  It's only bloody Stylist magazine as well, this might be the best train journey for a while.  I am still sans earbuds from this morning though, so no music is clearly taking the sheen of my good table and free magazine.  But not to worry, there's a bloke behind me who is very thoughtfully playing his music at full volume through his perfectly working earbuds so I can sing along to The Killers.

Thoughtful bastard isn't he?  Let's see if they still work when I shove them up your arse shall we?

A. Passenger

Buddy Hell

My first live blog from the platform and I cannot believe that before my train has even pulled into the platform, I'm already livid.

Firstly, my earbuds have packed up. This is a disaster of monumental proportions. I want to run and hide, or be sick behind this flower bowl sponsored by London Midland. So, my journey today will consist of trying to block out key annoying individuals. I've already identified one, and I don't think I'm the only one he's pissng off.

He's talking loudly, and I mean VERY loudly into a blackberry, complaining of some sort of server issue and how Samson is going to fix it. I'm pretty sure the volume of his conversation has been elevated a few decibels for the benefit of us uneducated, apparently un-IT literate. Your a middle aged man, with more than middle spread, in fact I'd say a full blown spread. Your belly is peeking out from under your shirt and you have a massive bunch of keys attached to your belt loop. Why? Do you moonlight as a janitor?! No one is impressed by your technical sounding conversation. Unless you can fix my desktop, there seems to be some sort of driver missing.

My attention is now brought in another direction as I spot my ultimate nemesis, Fruit Pastille Guy. My heart sinks and panic has risen in my chest. I will educate you on who Fruit Pastille Guy is later, but a video says it so much better than my words possibly can. I realise that I'm staring him out, my eyes boring into his very being and he shifts uncomfortably from one perfectly white pristine trainer to another.

Nice! Train is here and I can hopefully escape from FPG and Server man and walk down the platform. FPG gets on my carriage FUCK!  I've no option but to hover in the door to see which direction he goes. Right, right.. Yes, he's gone! I've slunk to a seat right at the very front facing in the opposite direction of travel with a tiny section of window to keep me from going insane and I can concentrate on the rain that's battering against it. There's something quite calming about the rain.

FPG and Server Man are nowhere to be seen. Now all I have to contend with are excessively loud Metro page turners. Sounds extreme I know, damn my super-sensitized hearing!!

I'm staring longingly through into the first class carriage. Would it be any better in there? Do these fat cat business men like peace and quiet or are they the worst? I can imagine pissing contests to see who has the best smart phone, laptop or briefcase. Or who can have the loudest, most inane and completley ridiculous conversation to a PA called Sharon instructing her to pull the Bankman files immediately and to alert the board of a possible meeting this afternoon (overheard from a previous journey!)

So, I actually feel calmer today and I think that tapping manically on my blackberry has helped. I've only got 2 stops to go, and the woman sitting opposite me sniffing is barely bothering me at all, TISSUE? MOTHER FUCKER?!
A. Passenger

Train Pain

I thought I could do it, and by "it" I mean.. be a proper commuter.  I'm not doing too badly, but I am fundamentally flawed in that people just annoy the hell out of me.

I've tried plugging in my iPod and letting the music take me to another place.  But that place is also that of rage and annoyance.  If I know someone is annoying, I can still sense their annoying-ness through my tightly shut eyelids.  I'm gonna have severe wrinkles.  I think my only option is to arrive at the platform with my eyes closed, earbuds firmly in, fumble onto the train and remain sans sight until my stop is announced.

Surely rail journeys should be a time of quiet reflection?  Were the journeys of yesteryear so bloody annoying?  Although, we didn't have smart phones, laptops, iPads and the like to contend with.  Which makes me sound really old, I was born in the 80's so I'm no OAP.

I can't seem to switch off from people on the train and I don't know why.  The slightest things enrage me, make my blood boil and cause me to become lairy and outwardly rude.  I've decided that the only way I can deal with it, is to publicly vent, I refuse to accept that I'm the only intolerant passenger.

So now I share with you, my Train Pain.