Yesterday was all set to be a good day...at least in my head. What deluded belief that was. I should have remembered a train journey would at least coincide with 1 encounter with the infamous alcohol stink of the travelling hobo that inhabits the rail network around Britain. In experience...further north, stronger the smell...so a visit to Stockport from Preston...it was going to pretty bad.
Thankfully a hangover that was making the outward journey a bad one anyway wasn't complimented with the travelling hobo stench, that was saved for the return...oh the joy of joys.
Sitting on the train, the first 3 or 4 minutes were good, stench free...I believed I may have achieved what only a few may have achieved before...hobo-less journey. Pull into the first station, and here he comes.With a train ticket (somehow) and smelling like a bad pint of cheap whiskey. Behind me he sat twisting, turning, kicking, coughing and spluttering, muttering mumbles of utter annoyance to the fact he was alive I'm assuming. Only stopping to have another swig.
What I don't get about these people, is how they ever got onto the train in the first place? How didn't he end up down by the tracks kissing the live rail with the way he stumbled and staggered up the aisle. Without the freedom to move to another seat in this busy train, I was lumbered with the gentleman for another hour at least.
Mix that with some of the rudest people I've ever had the pleasure of sharing a train with (aka the british public) and once again I was left surrounded with those things that make life extremely unbearable...PEOPLE.
Football was shit as well...
Pointless.
You can go now.
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