I woke up really rather early in a strangers flat lovely house in Derby this morning. The stranger was Owen Niblock’s cousin and I’d stayed in this lovely spare room with a proper big spare room duvet (I can’t explain this, it just feels right).
I was in Derby and up early to head home to London and back to work after last night’s gig.
It was woefully early and the train was at 0734 – that’s very early. I was made a cup of tea and we made chit chat until the taxi came. I
I got rushed to the station with a whole half hour to spare (I’m very bad (or good) at missing trains).
It’s not often that one finds oneself in Derby train station at 7am on a Wednesday morning, so whilst here I thought best to seize it with both hands. This soon got quite dull and I realised that despite me not normally being the kind of person that could stomach breakfast, for some reason being up and out so damn early was making me hungry.
So, like in ALL OF THE FUCKING STATIONS in Britain I went to the FUCKING CUNTING NASTY Upper Crust sandwich place. Can we not please have a bit of a variety, each town looks the same … grrr.
They had a breakfast Sausage submarine bap roll thing. It was sausage and cheese with red sauce in. mmm. I asked for one, the kindly (and slightly thick looking) picked one up with her special tong hands (they breed them here in Derby) and placed it in a paper bag with a napkin. As she was handing it over she remembered to ask me whether I wanted it heated. I replied saying I did. Of course I fucking did it’s a sausage sandwich on a cold morning.
She put it in her mystical microwave concealed away from view as she made my coffee. When it dinged she took out the bag, the paper now slightly see through with grease and she plonked it right on top of the paper I’d just bought, the main headline proving to be unreadable in seconds as a pigsworth of grease merged all the ink into one.
I took it too the platform and tired to unwrap it.
She’d microwaved everything. She didn’t put the sandwich on a plate in the microwave, she’d just shoved the whole bag in, napkin and all.
It was as if the microwave was actually the machine from “The Fly”, my Jeff Goldblum sandwich now merged genetically with the Napkin fly, it would not peel off, some bits flaked off but I was stuck with it.
Normal people would complain. I ate a papery sandwich.