That's when everything goes like clockwork: the walk, the tube, the intercity train and the drive home from Norwich.
This week's been shit (thanks, Notwork Rail): five hours to get home on tuesday, almost six last night …
Which is why seeing this on the way home tonight really cheered me up:
When you've been commuting for as long as I have, this is fucking funny!If you're wondering why anyone would spend around seven hours a day just getting to work and back, so am I. I love my job and I love my home, but why the fuck are they so far apart?
Our rail franchise is run by the people who made George Bush's brain. Every time the shitty old train judders to a halt in the middle of nowhere, all I can think of is 'roll on death' (which is a bit like roll on deodorant, only a lot bigger and heavier).
I figure that by voluntarily submitting myself to the intolerable suffering of long distance commuting in this life, the next life must surely be a real doozy! … please?
It's probably too late to enjoy the rest of this life anyway. I mean, I'm an ugly, balding guy in my late forties, yet I can't even date ugly, balding, women …
Well I probably could. What usually stops me is a grimly hilarious but un-erotic vision of two middle-aged people entwined in the throes of passion, bellowing and thrashing like a couple of dinosaurs drowning in a swamp …
How the fuck do middle-aged people … er, fuck?
Answers on a postcard, but please, not to me …
When you've stopped throwing up at that thought, here's your homework:
Today's word you must use in your next telephone conversation: Frottage.
Today's track to track down: Hana by Asa Chang and JunRay. Bonkers and beautiful (sounds like my ideal woman).
Today's reading assignment: The Curious Sofa: A Pornographic Work by Ogdred Weary. One of Edward Gorey's finest; and only as pornographic as your mind makes it.
Today's fact: Every biscuit has an immortal soul.
2 comments:
I take it your Mum doesn't have this blog bookmarked, Dive.....?
Talking of which (whom?) I heard this lovely gem on R4 last night,
"I don't understand why 'I fucked your mum' is an insult, I mean, last time I heard it I thought, 'My Mum's 64, you're 24 - that sounds like a result for my Mum'"
Less of the self-pity, matey. I love "roll on death" though! How about roll on roll off ferries, or roll on Christmas... (like roll on deodorant, but full of mindless commercialism). I can feel a companion for the Scunthorpe game coming on....
Hee Hee Hee …
I caught that quip on R4, too; from 30 Edinburgh Fringe acts in 30 minutes.
I do like your Roll on Christmas idea.
A roll on my birthday would be nice, too … though I'll probably end up with cake … ho-hum.
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