The Trip Home

I recently (sort of) wrote a blog about snow. There is a lot of snow in Britain's recent history and it likes to cancel flights. Luckily, I had enough common sense to predict this and booked a train. However, it looks like any old fucker can get on a train. Fuck.

Yeah, early morning hangover to get onto the train. Met with somebody who's taking the same train as me, not gonna talk about her. I don't do that on this blog. At least I try not to.

I was lucky enough to get a table seat and able to get the laptop out and play Football Manager for most of the trip. Like a loser. I am a loser. I got the new Football Manager game for Christmas, so yeah. I don't care.

The girl sitting next to me never got off her phone. These people do exist, as sitcoms and paranoia will tell us, but I have a strange feeling that she was actually mentally instable. She was talking even when we were going through a tunnel with no signal. It may be a deceased loved one, she could be bereaved, this could be making a joke out of somebody's loss. Whatever. Mental. All of her conversations started with:

"You wouldn't believe what happened to me last night!"
"Whatever the person on the other end of the line said."
"Can't tell you, I'm on the train."

Say what, girlfriend?!

Sanity was slipping. Sitting in one place for a duration of time longer than 20 minutes is usually uncomfortable. I needed to get out of there. Baby needed to get out of there. I think that's a movie quote from Footloose. Probably not. Nobody keeps baby down? KEEPS BABY IN A CORNER! Something like that. Awful.

I eventually went to the food carriage and I was lucky enough to get there before it closed for a while. The woman at the counter gave me the job to tell everyone behind me that I was the last person to be served. If that fact wasn't true, I would sound like an absolute penis. It was true, but everyone else thought it was bullshit. Led to a multitude of dirty looks from people that had their flights cancelled and were standing up on a seven hour train journey. Oh well. My sympathies. This also led to a funny exchange that I may steal for a sitcom that I may write someday, possibly May.

"Sorry, it's closed. It'll be open again after Newcastle."
"...When will it be open?"
"After Newcastle."
"Around what time?"
"Sorry, not sure. It's the next stop."
"What time is castle?"
"Huh?"
"You said it would be open afternoon."
"No. After Newcastle."
"..."

She must have thought I was completely crazy saying, "Afternoon, Castle!"

We eventually got some Essex lads standing near us on the train, talking about their munted night. Whatever. Not even interesting or funny. Don't know why I brought it up.

That was my trip home. Merry Christmas one and all.