I was in Carlisle last night. This is a long way away, especially for me, as i live in london.
Post gig I had some beers and a rather big doughy pizza and in the morning I felt like shit for most reasons.
I was perversely looking forward to the train journey; actually, not sure if perversely is quite the right word, does that mean I was looking forward to it in some kind of perverted way? Why is it, that now, I am sat on the actual internet itself and I am spending time writing this when I could have just looked it up and appeared both more erudite and intelligent.
Yes, I just used the word erudite.
I chose to shun my reserved seat in favour for the whole fucking table that was available and unreserved. And the train had only one stop between Carlisle (far away) and London (up close). Surely I could have it all to myself.
I had bought Tiger Woods Golf for my laptop. I was quite excited to play it. I also had Sunday’s Top Gear downloaded on to my computer. This was going to be a fun journey, for I am a man who likes golf and cars.
The night before was wearing on me so I took a nap. Preston approached (the town, not the non-entity), I stumbled in my sleep, looking forward not only installing, but also playing Tiger Woods. Then, through my ears, because my eyes were shut I heard “Look Ted, there are three seats here”
And with that three old people sat down around me. Next to me was a proper old army chap with a big red army coat and medals. These are the kind of people I bought a poppy for the other week. I like these kind of old people, and I hate the way the yoof disregards them or is a bit grumpy to them
But today, not only was I young, but I was also hungover and a little grumpy cos I lost my expanse of seating. (Over the aisle was my rightful reserved seat, someone was sat in it now, spreading out across the double.
So I went back to sleep, suddenly too embarrassed to play golf next someone that probably died in the war.
My cold heart started to thaw when i heard them talk about taxi drivers in question, they were annoyed that they were all coloured. My sensibilities prickled but i said nowt. mainly as their complaint was that they don’t know what they’e doing and often don’t even have a map, asking for directions on the destination. This is indeed pretty shoddy cabmanship - their argument was valid aside from the nasty rasict element. When will these people learn that any colour of person can be a shit cabbie?
I woke up and fired up the laptop. The old man tried to make conversation asking me if it was a 5-series. I got panicky. Isn’t a 5-series a type of car? Was he being old and senile, or mocking me? I had to be careful with how to answer either possibility. he said he had one too, they are good machines.
Now, my laptop is an acer, the model number says Aspire 1640. There is no 5 in there. A 5 series is a mercedes (or a BMW maybe) - see, I was about to watch Top Gear I know about cars.
He was surely mocking me
I just said yes, it’s a good laptop, but running a little slow now it’s gotten old.
Then realised what I had just said to an old man
And slept til Euston.
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