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.