Monday, November 08, 2010
autumn is so nice when you don't need to leave your house
This leaf is pretty. And it is the size of my face. But behind the leaf lies rage of monolithic proportions
A Welsh colloquialism for 'so angry you lose the ability to speak.'
Run-down of commute this morning:
Get up extra early. Have an early management meeting every Monday.
It's raining outside, and there are golden leaves the size of Algeria lying on the pavement.
The rain, wind and sheer bastard elements penetrate every pore in my body as I stumble over the pavement with an umbrella that's turned inside out and freezing cold raindrops trickle down the back of my neck.
Arrive station. Two out of three ticket machines are out of order.
Stand in rain to get ticket for what feels like purgatorical amounts of precious time.
Try to get on a train. Get shoved off by Irish woman who turns around to me and barks 'Fack ahf I was on foirst!'
I tell her go and fuck herself as she pushes me off the train.
Second attempt at getting on train (wind still raging, rain everywhere, starting to feel suicidal with rage). Shoved and pushed everywhere.
So cramped is this train, that I can't move my arm to put it into my coat pocket. I also don't know where my handbag is - the strap is on my shoulder, but is pulled backwards into the throng of [hateful, Satanic] bodies around me.
Everyone hates each other. Especially the people that insist on throwing themselves into the train when there is clearly No. Available. Space. In. The. Carraige. Whatsofuckingever.
And then have the beef to scream, "Would people please move down the carraige!"
This is when I want to claw their eyes out and string them across the platform. Should I stick to the ceiling Your Highness?
Arrive at work and don't eat breakfast. Because this took me an hour and a half. And the blood sugar is at dangerously low levels.
A journey, without rain and SHIT, would take 15 minutes door-to-door. The Brit had similar problems getting to work. His train doors wouldn't open at all. So he had to push through 12 carraiges to get out.
Sigh. The real test of England is here. I want to vomit on it.