Grease

There’s one vile thing about public transport (OK, there’s more than one vile thing, but bear with me on this), and todays trains have had some spectacular examples of it. Hair-grease.

Trying to look through the windows today (Not quite sure why, as it’s been primarily grey and raining) they’ve been obscured by a miasma of hair-grease where some bunch of soap-dodging fuckbats have rested against the glass. It’s not just smeary – that would be bad enough – it’s the little lumps of skin and residual hair-strands that really top it off. And so many times you can see the different patches where individuals have rested – one on top of the others.

Layers of greasy hair, strata of smeg. Follicles, oil, all sorts of shite. And you just know that if you tried wiping the window it’d smear even worse, and leave your fingertips just feeling yick. Nasty in SO many ways.

You guessed it

In a fit of epic logic, there are no direct Reading to Manchester trains between 1405 and 1805. All morning they run on at least an hourly basis, and then in the evening they run half-hourly. But at the time when people are likely to be travelling, in the late afternoon, nope, they fuck up and don’t run at all – every traveller to Manchester has to change trains at either Birmingham or Leeds. (I’m currently undecided which one I’ll change at – we’ll see) It’s a piece of true genius – and when speaking to the twadges at National Rail Enquiries, the excuse given is “well, it’s a Sunday timetable”. Not quite sure how that makes sense, but then, I suppose that expecting our rail service to make sense is deeply naïve, to say the least. Still, naivety has its place, and that generally seems to be in the expectation that things are supposed to make sense at all.

On a similar subject, why is it that so many train passengers keep their bags beside them all the time, taking up an extra seat with their oh-so-precious posessions, particularly when the train’s rigidly busy? There’s racks above the fucking seats, it’s not like you’re leaving stuff at the far end of the carriage where some scrotty little bleeder can search through it, nick it, or whatever. And it’s not even like the bag contains essential sustenance for the journey – it’s just an attitude of “it’s my bag, so it must sit beside me”. Of course, I do tend to pick on people who do it, and ask if that seat’s taken. The sighs and grudging way the bag is moved is enough to amuse me for a while – petty, I know, but there we go. Comedy can be found in many places, so long as you know where to look.

Shorts

Today is a day of tragedy chez D4D™ My – admittedly manky and knackered – shorts have finally died. Thankfully, most d4d readers have never seen this item of “clothing” – but they’ve served faithfully when sleeping in new locations, as well as for relaxing and scumming about in. They’ve been worn while decorating in at least three places, and seen the decor of many more.

While no great advertisement of any attempt at sartorial elegance on my part, they’ve provided great service, and induced despair in many a host. But now they’ve been consigned to the Great Laundry Bin in the Sky (well OK, just the Bin, but they know what I mean) having finally pretty much fallen apart. And while I may miss them, I’m sure no-one else will.

RIP Manky Shorts.

Santa Fe

In comparison to the previous hassles with the St George and Dragon in Wargrave, the Santa Fe (Nasty flash-driven site) is brillig. Decent food, decent price, decent drinks, and shedloads of alcohol. Including Stoli Raspberry, which is always a good thing – as well as lots of other stuff. Wholly recommended, and we’re back there tomorrow, which is even better.

Time flies like an arrow.
Fruit flies like bananas

Blimey, it really doesn’t seem like a week since I set off to Norfolk. But yes, by this time last week I was off on my travels. I’ll be back on a train on Sunday (Lucky Me) then back down here for the August Bank Holiday.

In fact, we’re pretty much organised for the next couple of months worth of weekends in either Bracknell or Manchester (well, every other weekend, pretty much, but there we go) so we must be doing something right. It’s been a fairly lazy week, as in that we haven’t been out to loads of places – but at the same time we’ve managed to get a lot done and sorted out, so in that context it’s been pretty busy.

Returning on Sunday isn’t something I’m particularly looking forward to – but these things have to be done, I suppose.

Birthday Plans

It’s all getting horrendously organised this year. There’s a fantastic organisation called The Landmark Trust who take quirky old buildings, renovate and upgrade them, then let them out as holiday homes. The catalogue costs £9.95, which also helps to build funds for renovating “new” properties – which I regard as well worth the money.

Come November 5th this year, we’ll be going over to Kent, and staying in one of their properties for the weekend. It’s somewhere close to the arse end of nowhere, and looks fantastic. The photos when I come back will be well worthwhile. I’m looking forward to it already.

Round Tuit

Well, having waited what can only be described as “a fucking eternity” for someone to return the Filofax I left at their house at the start of June, I’ve finally decided that some things can’t wait any more, and applied for a replacement driving licence. It’s one of those things I need to get sorted, as train travel is (as regular readers may have noticed) beginning to piss me off on a regular basis, and I’m going to be doing more of it over the rest of this year. (I’m sure it would be easier to end up involved with someone in the same city, but for now well, it’s just not going to happen, is it?) So the sooner I can also sort out the driving stuff, the better it’ll be, particularly with certain other plans that may or may not (but, quite honestly, are more likely than not) happen. Joe Enigmatic strikes back.