Porky Hands

5 Oct

I was standing on the train just like yesterday morning and watching the kid sit and make a racket while it’s mother just stares into the middle distance but now I have a seat as the luggage rack in the next carriage became available and I nabbed it. Thank fuck. No way was I standing all the way to Lewisham or even all the way into London Bridge again today. That fucking kid needs to sit on its mother’s lap but it never does and she won’t ever make it. Such lovely manners. The title refers to a couple who I now see most days when I’m walking to the station. I always spot them from way back and end up closing the gap and getting past them. She keeps wearing skin tight jeans and she’s a right fat bitch. He is also fairly rotund and so when they do manage to peel away the layers and clamp hands it is just trotter to trotter. If they stepped up the pace they would be a lot less fat. It’s vile seeing her legs bobbling along in front of me and I walk faster just to have the pleasure of passing them and my eyes can be safe again. Couples like that deserve each other. Nobody else would touch them with a bargepole. I have the pleasure of sleeping beauty opposite me this morning – aren’t I a lucky girl hey? I can see you all turning green with envy at my position this morning. Time to post. Tunnel is looming. 


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