About Me

I'm a Geordie living in Birmingham, and, after a year and a half, people still laugh at the way I say film.

Sunday, 9 May 2010

As I sit here on the 13.06 from Newcastle to Manchester, it is peaceful. The train is quite empty and there is an air of calm on the train. It's a Sunday, people are tired and just want to get home, so the enjoy the peace and quiet.

Until it is broken at York. Magnificently broken like a sledgehammer breaking through a brick wall. As I write this to you my fearless reader, I can hear the half drunk half hungover tones of what is inevitabley a stag do or lads weekend of sorts, screaming their lungs out about nothing and everything. They're from Manchester I think, judging by their accents. Their annoying lager lout accents which sound more like a drunken moan than anything else. I just wanted to sit here and read my book in peace, but these men grabbed peace, gagged it, stuffed it in a duffle bag and threw it out of a moving train window. One of them has just said 'we haven't even got tickets'. Do they know where this train is even going? Or in their stupor have they wandered on assuming it's like a taxi and it'll take them wherever they want to go?

They've merged with a howling group of middle aged women who all have filthy laughs. And here comes the ticket inspector. This should be good. He approaches like a shark stalking a flock of seagulls on the surface of the water. Even if it catches one in it's jaws it's a victory. They laugh in his face. He walks away with their money. I think we know who won that. One needs the toilet. He looks through the carriage door, sees that it's a stones throw away and announces, to the whole train, 'oh no, i'm not walkin all t' way down there'. Please don't piss on the door instead mate.

Back to the women and their filthy filthy laughs. They're the kind of filthy laughs that hint at a dirty girls weekend with straws shaped like cocks and chocolate shaped like cocks and all manner of other things shaped like cocks. The kind of filthy laugh that suggests the only thing missing from said dirty weekend was an actual cock.

For all my ranting about these blokes, I bet I'm no different when I'm jazzed up after a few bevvies on the weekend. I guess it's that hipocrisy we all have in small amounts. It comes out when you're alone and you see a group having a good time. I guess you just have to remember that at some point or another were all that loud group on the train. I just hope when I'm that group there are leas cock shaped things abound.

Stay safe

- On the fly

1 comment:

  1. I was once on a bus where a two drunk chavs actually did take it in turns to have a piss in the back corner, that really wasn't a fun journey.


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