Change Of Plan

21 Jul

I am off to see Dame Sparkles and the lady of Lee this evening instead of going home to look at my 600 pictures from yesterday. It was an offer that I couldn’t refuse but the journey is worrying as the trots gave decided to blight me all afternoon. I rushed to the station to get the 18.30 and then also fit in a trip to Boots. They have fuck all on the shelves to stop the shits and the queue for the counter was ridiculous and so I just huffed out saying “I guess I wil just have to shit myself on the train home then” and left their establishment. I shan’t bother to return there again in a hurry. My 18.46 was cancelled “due to a train fault” but apparently there has been a number of cancellations due to that including the 18.48 that I just heard announced. Fucking wankers. They better not fuck me up tomorrow when in theatre bound. Going to get the ticket this evening at Abbey Wood. The insincere man has just made an announcement for the driver of this fucking train – no wonder we aren’t going anywhere. It has gone 18.30 and that lazy fucker is probably supping his Krug somewhere with the beluga caviar canapes being handed to him by a scantily clad woman. The train is all fucked anyway – we haven’t left, the next stop us London Bridge but the on board thing says the next stop is Catford Bridge. What a fucking fuck up all round? The doors are closing and we are leaving six minutes late. They really don’t give a fuck about us. Gobby fucker in front has decided to call everyone she knows to tell them her train is delayed. I can only assume she is on her way to her own wedding and must let the guests know she’s going to be late… oh no, sorry, she’s just a sad fucking slag who doesn’t know how to text message. Give me strength. I’m holding it all in – quite literally – and trying not to melt as we have no air con on this train. Crawling to London Bridge now and by the time we get there in sure we will be inundated by millions of people who have been held up by the fuckery of the en masse cancellation of trains. Standard four deep at London Bridge and the usual battle of the morons all jostling for position to get on. Someone has just got on honking of weed but oddly enough nobody looks like they would be. I’m going to post as I need to concentrate on my sphincter now – or not – to ensure we aren’t put out of service by human soiling. Apologies for being graphic but you know I’m not one to hold back. Wish me luck, Obborati.

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

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