Two wheels deathwish

The new announcements at Cannon Street are laughable. Apparently we may have platform alterations and have to use different exits… Because of the Olympics. Why the fuck are they bothering to tell us now? It is January. Also telling us about the roadworks outside that have been going on for a good two months so that isn’t anything new. I also saw a poster saying that they are having testing tomorrow for the Olympics. Give me strength. How about doing testing when it really is busy, when the trains are all fucked and there are hundreds of angry livestock waiting. Oh no, that would be too much to ask. Back to the title of the post, and the deathwish of those on two wheels. Where I almost get run over every day, I saw a man almost get wiped out by a twat on a Vespa who stopped way over the white line. Thankfully the man who cheated death stopped to give the idiot a piece of his mind, but nowhere near as abusively as I would have done. There was pointing and waving of hands, but no raised voices and no name calling. It made me happy to see someone stop to put him in his place. Clearly he had pulled up to the front of the queue and over the line to see past the bus, but why he couldn’t just wait behind the bus is worrying, and this again illustrates that two wheeled subhumans take stupid chances in their quest to get ahead. Blindspots, red lights and white lines mean nothing if it means they can pull away first. I also had the pleasure of seeing a bike going the wrong way down the road outside Cannon Street and I made sure I was in his way to stop him bumping on the curb when a bus came towards him. He just swerved though and carried on. Makes me sooooo mad, if you hadn’t realised. It has been a day from hell today – customer care issues all day long, and trying to pick up the pieces as much as I could. Thankfully everyone seemed happy so I can sleep well tonight, making sure my bloody alarm goes off tomorrow so I don’t miss the train again like a tit. Only Tuesday and the girl sitting next to me stinks of vodka. Her day must have been bad, but mine must have been worse only I can handle it better. No drinkies for me tonight. The bus saga at London Bridge continues tomorrow morning with yet more disruption. From tomorrow, I no longer wait outside Fitness First (I saw Sweaty Betty leaving this morning when I was there just before 9am – looking as chunky as ever) and they will be stopping before the taxi rank apparently. We shall see. Pisses me off the disruption all the building work has caused. It seems we mean nothing to TFL when we are shifted about onto the street from the BUS STATION – clue is in the name. No doubt by the time the end of the world aka the Olympics arrive, all will be well again. Until then we just have to be the shit on their soles. Aren’t they kindly people? Sebastian Coe and Tony Blair… What have you done to this country? London is in uproar and all for 6 weeks when you can showcase what a great place it is. We have had 7 years of this shit and we are sick of it. When are WE going to get some rewards? I cannot wait for it all to be over.

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Kids are twats, parents are arseholes

I overslept. I put my Sony on charge last night and it didn’t take the charge and ran out in the night. I woke up at 7.25 and I am on the 8.21 train. Packed platform as it arrived late, and a 5 year old little wanker pushed right in front of everyone while mummy stands aside so he can get her a seat. Doesn’t work like that dear, you want a seat, stand in the right place. Kiddy almost ended up down the gap between the train and the platform as I was not going to let him weedle his way in front of me. He is now being hand fed and watered, so no wonder these little bastards grow up thinking they are owed everything. His mother shot me an evil look but as always, I was in the right place for the door without the aid of shuffling along or a small child and so I guess she didn’t like it. Might not be my usual train, but if it is hers then learn the fuck where to stand. I got home last night, ready to smash the security tag on my vest off when I noticed it is one with dye in it. Fi said to use a strong magnet to activate the mechanism… I will have to think where to find one, and write to H&M to complain. When I left the shop the alarm didn’t go off. Twatty kid just sneezed all over the train, no hand and so if I get ill he will end up down the gap along with his scabby mother. It is funny, I dreamed I overslept as I had woken up at about 5 as usual and then it seemed a really long time between that and the alarm. Turns out it really was. What a tit? I have a picture of the dogshit on a ledge for you this morning, that isn’t too rank but it has to be seen to be believed. People are standing on the train now, as the little twat is sitting in a seat all to himself and his mother is taking pictures of him. In all honesty, I think she is taking a picture of me because she thinks being a nasty bitch isn’t legal – little does she know that she is in fact the nasty bitch. I am merely a Saint. I am missing Sharon today, I hope she is back in London today and I will see her tomorrow after I check a thousand times that my bloody phone is charged. That is only the second time since 2004 that I have been let down by the alarm. I got all confused and thought it was Saturday. No such luck and I get the train that I constantly get emails about as it is always delayed. Southeastern, sort that shit out.

Bugger… shoplifters, please help

Perfectly Placed Poo

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No Swampy Jumper

UBS – The aftermath

All I saw when I got to the recently vacated UBS building this morning was a skank with green hair and a pile of crap nearby. I took a picture but it isn’t even worth talking about. I looked hard for the elusive Swampy jumper but to no avail – those of you who don’t know who Swampy is, Google time. The recruitment consultant fuckwits have training this week, and two of their people rang our buzzer. One of whom said “can you let me in?” and so after I asked who on earth it was, she was given a mouthful and I hung up. So sick of those twats. This week they are training mortgage advisors and so please take a look at picture number two of the ghetto scum waiting outside this morning. They can barely string a sentance together and I was greeted by yet more phlegm on the groud as I skipped out for lunch. Why these fools think that there are even jobs to become mortgage advisors in this day and age is beyond me. They clearly don’t have their finger clamped on the pulse when it comes to job opportunities. When the trainees come, so do their rubbish littered around – a Starbucks and Subway cup discarded on the window cill further along and a Burger King wrapper on the table downstairs. Lovely that Jobseekers can afford such luxurious food and beverages. I also saw a Lucozade can just in the road – picture number three – and I wouldn’t put that past belonging to one of them as well. This lot have fucked me off royally and it is ONLY MONDAY. Steve sent me a picture today of a dainty elephant doing a classic two seats, one ass trick. I thought it nice to share the picture as I encourage you to send me them. I also have a picture of the building I call G A Y sporting a new colour – orange. The person with the important job of choosing the colour for the day has discovered that they can mix red and yellow to get a whole new colour. Would look better in autumn but I suppose it should do. The chaos outside Cannon Street continues – what the fuck are they doing anyway?? – and it is even more difficult to cross. But the pavement has been made narrower and so it seems to have stopped the subhumans cycling down past the station. The lane for traffic is now ultra-thin as well but they still ride the wrong way. I think we may have a death before the week is out. Either a cyclist or a trainee mortgage advisor…

Trainee Mortgage Advisors… no seriously

Ultimate in laziness

G A Y Orange

Stops the cyclists at LAST

From Steve this afternoon

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Dog shit and phlegm

What a gorgeous sight to greet me this morning. A dog shit balanced on a ledge, and I am guessing the dog must be auditioning for Britain’s Got Talent. The phlegm was green and thick, and glistening in the morning air. I am so lucky. The pair of gays who seem to think they own the platform are here, they can fuck right off if they try and push in again. Ladies first, yes, but that means vaginas and not dicks. Jesus they are rank “yeah, he has slept with 1500 men in four years, no just blow jobs but full on…” and although gay men and gay sex is fine, WHY are you chatting about it at 7.41am when you have had all weekend to talk about rampant bumming? Good news this morning, the Tented Twats who moved into the UBS building have been evicted. I will be walking past the aftermath just before 9am and if I don’t see blood, ripped out dredlocks and discarded Swampy jumpers I won’t be pleased. I noticed last week they had stepped up a gear, with more posters in the windows and people going in and out. There were 50 people removed and they may as well burn that building down now after the sheer amount of shit that has been residing in there for the last two months. There is no Sharon this morning but she was worried she might get snowed in over the weekend at home and I know she took stuff to work from there if needs be. I am not looking forward to this arctic blast that is meant to be coming this week. I couldn’t even put my vest on this morning – bought it in Plymuff over Christmas but the dappy slag behind the counter didn’t take the security tag off it and today is the first day I went to wear it. That will be attacked with a hammer when I get home tonight as I don’t have the time or inclination to take it to an H&M anytime soon. A security tag on a vest is madness anyway, it was four quid. Gypo looking bloke who was absent last week but is back today with a new feature – he has grown a fanny on his chin. Looks ridiculous. Didn’t hear what tunes he was listening to this morning, his new facial hair was too distracting.

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That’s Love

Just got on the train from Charing Cross – couple sitting in front are playing on their iPhones – twats. Why bother? Had a nice time celebrating the wedding apart from saying I would take a black eye for Mietek who got in a stupid fight. I don’t even know what it was about, but guessing the bloke was less likely to hit me than him. Met a nice Kiwi called Aaron who worked in recruitment and a girl called Jo who is my laugh buddy – it was frightening, we laughed exactly the same. She was amazing. I have a gem for you, who clearly works in Shoreditch… Look at the picture. London Bridge now, and a whole host of twats are on board… Vomit Comet is nasty. I should write more but I am too engrossed in my iPod and bladder control 🙂

Twat on board

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Gypo Friday

Central London is paved with gold this morning, as we have the pleasure of the Gypsies on the train going our way. Two of them today, and they will end up outside RBS no doubt to see if they can beg from the Bonus Man Boss. Good luck with that, skanks. No real usual faces on the platform. Not seen Tinie Tempah for weeks now. Sharon was waiting for me in our seats, complete with pink suitcase as she is off home for the weekend. Another nice catch up today, and discussing the problem of needing to wee on the train. I know I have shared those tales with you before, dear Obborati. It is a dry day today thank fuck. My Primark boots won’t now disintergrate in the pouring rain as there isn’t any. I am suffering from a touch of hayfever again today though. Man has filled Sharon’s seat with legs about eight feet long, and needless to say his knees are either side of the carriage. Playing a game in his Android phone like he was twelve. What a spanner. I am excited that between 4.30 and 6.30 this morning, we had twenty hits. Very strange, along with 40 people in the last two days arriving here by searching for observations of a commo and its varients. Viral time? God I hate waiting for the bus, but at least people are queueing. Annoys me when the first person to board dilly-dallys along like a twat, deciding where to sit. Just shift and park. Simple, because the people behind just want to sit down too and not be held up. Thank fuck it’s Friday today. Big drink coming my way later on.

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Chugger Cheek

This is a new excuse

The Chuggers are out in force tonight (sorry James) and annoying me. Why do they stand outside the station at rush hour? People are trying to get home, and don’t have the time to stop or the inclination to part with their bank details to pay their wages (sorry again James) and so I have battled away two so far. One outside Bank tube where I just said “train to catch dear” and one outside Cannon Street where I just put my palm up and said no. This is on top of the numerous cyclists who have almost killed me today on this walk home. I wish I could curse them like Gypsies (they are good for something). The trains are fucked, 18.30 is expected 8 minutes late. I just got on it, I can’t be arsed to be even more delayed, so a bus from Woolwich it is even though I dispise it, I don’t have much choice. This apparent delay is caused by a trespass on the line, on the fucking Bexley line so why are MY trains fucked up?? Knobhead on his mobile explaining that he got out of work early but he will be back at the flat in about half an hour. Why do they have to tell us ALL about their life? In front of him is a woman stood at the seat, so tucked in from the gangway but stood where someone can sit down. Clearly getting off at London Bridge. Man on phone has just said “sound, I will see you soon buddy” jesus kill me now please? Semi-attractive specimin has sat down next to me, made more attractive as he chomps down a McDonalds burger… In fact not just one but two and he just stuffed the wrapper down between us. He is a pig and has lost all appeal now. Pig for shoving his rubbish down mind, two burgers are essential. He won’t be picking that rubbish up when he gets off at Greenwich – he is that type to live in Greenwich. Navy blue suit, mincey matching tie and folding his Metro like it was a well looked after porn mag. The standing woman is still standing… What a weirdo? Bet the woman sitting on the inside is feeling uncomfortable with that looming over her like a Reaper. I can’t wait for Friday, looking forward to a chill out after work with work mates. Train isn’t as busy as I thought and I just had the idea of getting off at Abbey Wood and getting the bus from there… Will see how I feel. Either way a bus is involved as I am not walking that far in the dark while man-handling my Blackberry Playbook. An addition to the blog signature this evening is an email account that I set up so I can get your pictures and stories to share. Please feel free to drop some things over as and when you see them, I can’t wait to see. I feel a bit bad about mugging the chugger off now… But I don’t want to be guilt tripped into parting with my hard earned cash (sorry again James).

Hairball and piece of envelope down the back of a radiator

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Tweedle Thursday

I virtually run to get to the station, to ensure that I get here on time but the Tweedles are getting the bus still and it makes me mad. They used to walk, and I had the satisfaction of passing them but now they bus it and it just isn’t right. They are trying to see past me, to see if the train is coming. When people do this it worries me – looking down the track isn’t going to make it arrive any more quickly. There is a distinct odour of shit at the station this morning. Perhaps a Tweedle had a curry last night and is silently letting out deadly farts. The coffee cup bitches are here – they couldn’t be any more pointless if they tried. It looks like they are on their way to do community service in an old people’s home. I have just noticed that one of the coffee cup bitches is wearing earphones in both ears… No wonder they have to bloody shout. What a twat? I got annoyed at the news this morning, when they were interviewing that ugly bastard from Dr. Who. That bloke is beyond unattractive. He looks like a 70 year old man with no teeth. The hair is horrendous and it is beyond me how many stupid, blind women he makes wet. Can’t they see? He makes me want to vomit. If that cracked on to me, I would be forced to make him cry. I am missing Sharon this morning, she is working from home today so I don’t have my buddy to moan to. Following on from my reply from Darren BB1 yesterday morning, I finally managed to get Jamie Lester from the Apprentice to reply to me. He is one of my favourites and not just because he is gorgeous. He was good on the tasks, and famously told London tourists on a bus trip that the Thames was the second longest river in London and that the face of the Big Ben clock is twenty diameters across. I met him last year at an event with work, and I stopped him when he was on his way to the toilet for a picture where we exchanged some words about tinkling. It did make me grin last night when he replied though. Train is filling up now, and people who refuse to sit in the middle are huffing and puffing about shifting their bulk so people can get through to sit down. Well, he is male and wearing tweed so it is a prerequisite that he is a twat I suppose. I want it to be dry tomorrow so I can wear my “suade” boots from Primark to work. Wendy Hurrell didn’t mention rain for tomorrow, but saying that, I witnessed nothing squally yesterday even though I was prepared. Balls.

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West End Twats

I moan about City people but fuck me, people in the West End are a million times worse. Oxford Street at 6.30pm on a Wednesday – meeting Surekha for dinner – and I was surprised at the level of arsehole that greeted me. I got the Central Line to Tottenham Court Road from work, which was busy but it always is. Found the right exit at the tube station but thousands of pricks were spilling in from the street and on top of me. I wasn’t walking the wrong way, I was following arrows, and going the right way even though I kept having to check that I wasn’t going out of the entrance. The huffs, tuts and barges I got was unbelievable. West End folk are super-selfish. Then walking along Oxford Street to get to our chosen dining destination was like a salmon swimming up river – no fucker would give in. Bashing me with their mincey shopping bags, and more barging. Also the ambling twats who clearly don’t work and so time means nothing to them. I hate that mentality – wandering along, chatting away, seven abreast in a pavement wide enough for three. We got to Pizza Hut – vouchers, dahling – and I became the doorman as I held it open to get in and about fifteen slags all bundled out. Didn’t even look at me, let alone say thanks. Needless to say they got fully verbally abused. It seems the word thanks isn’t in the Fuckwit Vocabulary. Surekha was hugely excited when they messed up her order and she ended up with two pizzas so Andy will be fed well this evening as well. So now I am homeward bound after a lovely evening as always with Surekha. Journey is being made a bit shit by the bitch sitting on my lap, flicking through the Metro like my Nan used to flick through a paper – only Mum will know what this is like, but she will laugh. Thank fuck, flicky is getting off at London Bridge. That was so annoying, her whole body was being put into it – she was a midget and looked like a Borrower reading a book. That is someone who should get a tablet to read the news on. I highly recommend it. I have to get off at Woolarge this evening and get on another piss smelling bus and I am not looking forward to it, but I came home at the same time last week and there wasn’t much of a wait. When we were walking along to the tube after dinner, we wandered into a massive sweetie shop – been a while since I ventured to O Street so to me it is new – and fuck me, I would need a mortgage to buy anything in there. Overpriced shit. Mostly stuff that the newsagent’s by work do, but with the tourist pricetag. The prices people pay there are so scary, I forgot how expensive those shops are along there. The shops by my work are pricey but it isn’t all utter tat like Oxford Street. All they sell is shit and charge huge amounts for it. I could take my house up there, sell all the crap inside and make a mint. Anyone got a large removals van?

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Piss Smelling Bus

It smells like tramps – pissy and grubby. I just had to give you a little update as it seems that BB1’s Darren is a part time Tweeter and has only just seen the @ message that I sent him last week. I got a re-tweet and a reply, so all is good. Hoping the traffic over London Bridge isn’t criminal today, and the cyclists all fuck off into the gutter where they belong. This is where I saw the Boris Biker pulled over yesterday morning… I hope they hurled him off the bridge. Those fold up bikes look so dangerous, especially with a proper fatty on it. It looks like the saddle is literally becoming part of their body. I see so many of those stupid looking bikes. Also keep seeing twats on Boris bikes thinking that they are on a BMX – bunny hops, wheelies and standing up peddling. People’s self delusion is sometimes frightening. Still smells of piss which is unusual for a 149…

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