Thursday, 30 April 2009

What Happened Next...

I really did ask for it. There I was on the most boring train journey I’ve ever been on (if everyone being quiet and not being a cunt is boring) wishing that something would happen and it did. A family of a million children got on and generally caused havoc for the rest of the journey. I tried to write a blog on the train, thinking that was very modern, but the noise these little bastards were making was too much and I gave up. But the noise they made continued.

Luckily, I had an ally. The man sitting across from me made eye contact with me every minute or so and we both raised our eyebrows as if to say “Wouldn’t it be great if they would just fuck off?” We didn’t speak about it, in fact we didn’t speak at all. We didn’t need to plus we understood train etiquette fully and speaking to one another isn’t allowed. At least these little fuckers were only disturbing me from reading Doctor Who Magazine and watching Family Guy, the man across from me was doing actual work. He had his laptop and blackberry and papers and files. He was VERY important and very busy. They were getting on my nerves but he must have wanted to break their necks. I sat back in the hope that this would happen.

It never did. He was too reserved and too immersed in train etiquette to murder a group of children. So we both sat there and thought about saying something. We thought and we thought and we thought and we did NOTHING. I didn’t know the family, I hadn’t met them before and I hadn’t done a background check on them (I should have) but I had a pretty good idea that anything I would say to them would erupt into a riot of HOW DARE YOU!

Then I realised that it wasn’t really the children that were getting on my nerves. It was “Mummy”, “Granny” and “Other Woman” constantly telling this swarm of crayons and Ribena to sit down, behave and shut up. They were just so aggressive and their voices were constant. The kids I could ignore but the adults were an impossibility. All three had that horrible, shrill, glass-splintering Scottish accent that feels like a punishment no matter it’s saying. I love the Scottish accent but everywhere you go in the UK all accents can be split easily in two. One is nice, the other is ear rape. Liverpool is a perfect example. I love the accent but a lot of the time you meet the shrill version. The version that forces it’s needley-cock into your ear, fucks it, cums on your brain and threatens you to never call the police. You know. THAT accent. Well, these bastards had the Scottish version of that. Like their father was a Highland farmer and their mother was helium. THAT accent. Fucking awful.

I had sighed and huffed and even raised my voice on the phone to say that I was in a carriage full of cunts but nothing happened. They continued with their noise. Don’t do that, Hannah. Leave Riannah alone, Elsie. Stop touching him, Colin. Stop. Don’t. Sit. Quiet. On and on and on. Then the man across from me sighed. It was the first time he had audibly reacted to what was going on and one of the Three Witches darted a look at him.

The word hero gets bandied about all too easily these days but I really do think that it suits me. I saw the look given to the man but I also saw the look the man gave the woman. It was a look of apology, as if to say “Sorry, I’ll have more patience from now on”. Don’t worry, man, I thought, I’ll be impatient enough for both of us. I turned to “Mummy” and said “This has actually been going on for a while now. Can you please keep the noise down now?” Not rude but firm. “Mummy” didn’t see it that way. She saw it as a fatal punch to her children’s kidneys.

“How dare you”, she said. Yeah, I was right. “They’re only children”

Now, I have heard this way too many times on trains. They’re only children? NO. They’re only YOUR children and if you can’t control them then have the decency to not make them other people’s problems. Sure, it must be tough looking after a bunch of kids but I’m pretty sure she knew that before she had them. I’m sure that anyone who has unprotected sex thinks about the inconvenience that they may or may not be making to commuters in the future. It certainly stops me from cumming too quickly. I have a bit of sympathy with the situation but, if it goes on too long, how much sympathy are you supposed to give? I’m not Jesus McGee, for fucks sake. But it wasn’t the children that was annoying me. It was her. So I told her.

“I’m not talking about the children. I’m talking about you”, I said.

This baffled her, her friends and even silenced her kids. Surely this was a good thing. I explained that most of the loud noises were coming from her and her friends, it had been going on for an hour and if they can’t control their kids or themselves then maybe they should consider the other people on the train and stand in the vestibule. (Is that how you spell vestibule?) It sounds crap but I know that if I was upsetting people on a train with my kids I’d feel that I had no choice but to fuck off.

“Yeah”, she said. “It’s easy to see you haven’t got children”. Well, I’ve got a copy of Doctor Who magazine in front of me and I’m playing cartoons on my laptop so surely it’s sketchy at least as to wither or not I have children. “We’re not moving. Get used to it”, she said defiantly. It was then that I noticed that the man across from me had packed his stuff away and was about to move. “Good try, mate”, he said to me. “Some people are just too ignorant. If they’re not moving, I will”. He was given a (small) tirade of abuse from the Three Witches so I said “OK. I’ll come with you” The Three Witches were happy that they had won but I was happy that this obviously shy and reserved business man had spoken his mind to some very rude people. The two of us moved carriage and sat together talking about what a horrible journey it had been. We laughed about it. Let them have their carriage. We’re in the quiet carriage now, no-one around plus we’re having a laugh. Let’s call it a draw.

The train then stopped at Motherwell and two insane drunks got on and sat right across from us. They screamed the whole way to Glasgow.

Fortunately, this made us laugh all the more. We were destined to have a shit train journey no matter where we sat. There was nothing we could do about it. Plus it was fun trying to figure out what the drunks were trying to say to one another. It was mainly the word “What?” over and over again.

That bloke was called Ryan. He said he’s coming to The Stand in Edinburgh to see me on Friday. It’s exciting to have a date.

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