Busted Doors

21 Jul

So we have an eight coach rush hour 7.41 service and the carriage where I usually get on is out of service with the doors all locked. How well planned, Southeastern, how well planned. It doesn’t help that on the next carriage down we are surrounded by suitcase wankers taking up a lot of room and with absolutely no intention of moving the collection of bags from the window seat while he sits in the aisle with yet more cases – what a wanker, hey? The woman seat hogger was getting off at the next stop so her bags stood momentarily with her and then she struggled to make her way past the suitcase wanker to get out. Cases of this quantity shouldn’t be allowed on a rush hour train when the person travelling is alone. Saying that, his gut counts for another person as does his flicky mullett – it’s a wonder I haven’t slipped off the seat with him looking like that accompanied by the whiff of cooking fat that’s emanating from his every pore. I had to walk again this morning – someone has to sort out those fucking buses – and needless to say I am now glistening more than Liza Minelli at a gay wedding and I feel filthy. Another twelve hours until I can get into a nice cool bath…. Time to post as soon I will be needing to fidget to let people get through seeing as the arsehole opposite won’t be making a move to help others. I hope the wheels drop off his nasty cases and he misses his flight.

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