My apologies for this blog being both late and for not putting up the ‘weekend’ blog. I knew it wasn’t going to happen, Mother’s Day you see.
It was rather a jolly day actually. I met my brother and his missus at Wimbledon station at 11-ish and despite the train being a mile long walked right on to their carriage, sister & bro-in-law picked us up at Woking and drove us to this huge mansion house in the middle of ‘just fields’. As soon as we approached the entrance I could see in the distance a squadron of bent over old bastards and knew instantly that the food was going to be shit. Indeed entering the large dining room was dissimilar to starting shift on a geriatric ward, even the distance whiff of piss was apparent.
Still, nice seeing the folks, despite the vacuous offal we were served there was at least wine, the pudding wasn’t too bad and it was nice to catch up. We’re quite a close family in many respects and its extremely refreshing to be able to speak freely in company without having to self-edit, my parents are very open minded people when push comes to shove, despite having a little penchant for this god fellow.
My hangover was waning as the meal wore on, the previous evening I’d met up with my brother and Swinsehead on Soho for beers. It’d been a terrible afternoon and I was only too happy to get as many pints down my neck in order to solicit some sort of recovery. I had just come out of a rather lively meeting, following my late arrival on account of South West Trains ticket fucking machine. I was already running late because I’d been privy to witnessing a dismissal, which was actually harrowfying. My boss, not content with just ‘letting someone go’ had decided to rip this guy to shreds before telling him, literally, to fuck off. The recipient of the bollocking begun to shake and blink rapidly, he muttered something about his wife and tried to escape the tirade of yelling by requesting ‘a breath of air’. It was fucking horrible, unnecessary too, whilst this guy deserved to be dismissed, the manner of it’s doing was utterly unnecessary.
By the time I got to the station I wasn’t in the best of moods despite it being Friday afternoon with neat solid plans for the evening, then I came across this South West Trains ticket fucking machine. Due to a lack of any form of customer care, consideration or anything remotely approaching basic standards of civility the entire rail network is populated by too few machines in lieu of human being’s, you know, those things with legs and faces that will at least offer some sort of suggestion as to what one does do when a South West Trains ticket fucking machine eats your debit card without any fucking reason or explanation… The best I could do was yell ‘CUNT!’ at the top of my voice looking heaven wards, march to the front of a large hostile queue to inform a solitary bemused women that ‘the machine has swallowed my fucking card’, she shrugged so muttering obscenities I walked the short distance up the street to the fucking bank, cancelled my card and returned to the station.
…Due to some sort of a fuck up the rest of this blog is sat on my PC at home. I hope to have it up later today, if not, it will be shoved up tomorrow
