Wet Wet Wet

29 Jan

What a vile Wednesday morning journey? I am trussed up like a person who goes sailing at the weekend, with my anorak all done up and the hood covering most of my face. I feel like Ellen McArthur although I am far more attractive and less of a media whore than she. Sitting on the 7.41 that I just made as I had to walk again. The 177 was advertised as being a minute away from the fuckwitstop but it still hadn’t passed me by the time I got to the station so walking was a wise move. I am now roasting my tits off on the train as I am sitting next to the heater, and that heat is combined with my own body heat from walking briskly to the station and kept in by wearing layers as Carol Kirkwood told me it was going to be colder than yesterday. My hair is most unattractive because it was flattened by my hood, but I can see people nearby who look far worse than I do so I won’t worry. Two large newbies have just boarded at Woolwich Dockyard and are faffing about looking for seats. Welcome to the Rush Hour dears. This is how people get to work, and work is a stranger to you so it seems. Must be a school trip or something for them. I was penned in at Plumstead which is unusual, but he is a faffer too; wriggling about to get comfortable and fannying about with his seat and book and coat and bag and seat again. Oh and glasses. Give me strength as it is only fucking Wednesday. The heat is making me feel odd now so I shall get posting. If I don’t post later then you know for sure I slipped into a coma, slid down the seat and melted in a pile of anorak on the floor of the train.

Sorry for the spelling mistakes but it was posted with WordPress for BlackBerry dahling.



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