Psycho-delic Trains
Trains. Well I quite like traveling on them. I always feel like I’m heading away for an adventure, even if I’m just heading somewhere for work. If I had ever read the Famous Five I’d feel like them. Now one off putting thing about trains at the moment is the fact they are FUCKING expensive (if only I had done like a pal of mine who even though he is over 30 he managed to get a fake NUS card and then a young persons rail card – the bastard) and every time I have to stand for an entire journey cause there are 100 first class carriages and 7 scumbag class ones, I get the feeling tham Richard Branson is behind me giving me a good bumming.
The most recent journey back from the sexy ladies place up in Wrexham (eeeuuuuuuuuuugh – Wrexham that is, not my girlfriend) was a new one on me though as I think there had been a dance festival up in Blackpool. by dance I dont mean tea, cakes and a nice waltz. I mean the kind of dance that dispenses with the afor mentioned and replaces it with winners, gak and mushrooms. I don’t think age Concern endorse that sort of thing (although I could be wrong) To get back on the point the train was full of people with very large back packs that smelt slightly of hemp – I have no problem with this as the hemp smelling raver has been me on occassion. The moan comes in the form of the fact that the 2 who squeezed in beside me where so messed up stil that the girl started some sort of chant that did stop even when she seemed to fall into a sleep/trance/coma. What do you do at that point? Do I wake them? Do I tell a conductor and look like a square or just lick the inside of their backs and get intot the zone with them.
I chose to whack on the headphones and try to ignore her and her boyfriends massive eyeballs that were rotating independently. Which is a talent.
