The train drew to a stop. As such, I also stopped moving. Because I was on the train. There, I've said it.
Bigfoot had long since departed, leaving me to sit next to an elderly woman who bore more than a passing resemblance to Don King. I was going to pick up my mother, you see. After Le French Secret Service started squatting in my house, I'd managed to phone my mother and convince her to put off her visit for a few days, which she'd spent living out of bins and hunting elk.
To continue my longstanding lie that I was successful, I stole a BMW from the train-station car-park, setting off to pick her up from her hotel... Alley... Whatever. Bundling her in the boot, I began the journey home.
Sorry, this blog doesn't have a real beginning or end, it's kind of a filler in the long-running narrative that is my insanity. And I'm still not sure what Mr. Potato the racist potato had to do with anything...
Showing posts with label train. Show all posts
Showing posts with label train. Show all posts
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
Sunday, 24 August 2008
I hate Trains.
“Remember Kyle?”
I took in the figure talking to me in a cold, measured glare. He seemed generally unobtrusive, smartly dressed in a well-made suit and tie. Balding a little, but covering it well with a half comb-over. Still, normal as he seemed, I found it hard to contain my rage.
“No”, I felt like saying, “Who the fuck is Kyle, and who are you?” But I didn’t, as that would be rude.
He continued anyway:
“He used to collect beermats from around the world.”
As if that would really help my remember a man I’d never met. Then again, I suppose it was an unusual character trade. Actually, as he said it, I remembered my friend Bob had done that when we were in school. I wondered if he still does, but dismissed the thought.
“Well, he’s getting married to this girl he met on a chatroom. Foreign, I think.”
“Oh, right. Well, good for him. When’s the wedding?” I replied. Keeping him happy seemed a good idea.
“Late October. 23rd, I think. Some time around then anyway. Are you going?”
“Well…” I decided to play it safe. “No, I don’t really know him well enough.”
“Aye, fair enough. I’ll tell him you send your congratulations though, ok?”
I agreed hastily, and watched gleefully as he departed the carriage. That had been some of the longest 37 seconds of my life.
I took in the figure talking to me in a cold, measured glare. He seemed generally unobtrusive, smartly dressed in a well-made suit and tie. Balding a little, but covering it well with a half comb-over. Still, normal as he seemed, I found it hard to contain my rage.
“No”, I felt like saying, “Who the fuck is Kyle, and who are you?” But I didn’t, as that would be rude.
He continued anyway:
“He used to collect beermats from around the world.”
As if that would really help my remember a man I’d never met. Then again, I suppose it was an unusual character trade. Actually, as he said it, I remembered my friend Bob had done that when we were in school. I wondered if he still does, but dismissed the thought.
“Well, he’s getting married to this girl he met on a chatroom. Foreign, I think.”
“Oh, right. Well, good for him. When’s the wedding?” I replied. Keeping him happy seemed a good idea.
“Late October. 23rd, I think. Some time around then anyway. Are you going?”
“Well…” I decided to play it safe. “No, I don’t really know him well enough.”
“Aye, fair enough. I’ll tell him you send your congratulations though, ok?”
I agreed hastily, and watched gleefully as he departed the carriage. That had been some of the longest 37 seconds of my life.
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