Unfortunately it’s now Sunday (stay with me here, I’m telling one of those story things), which means that I’ve got to leave clean, respectable Lincoln to travel back by train to dirty, friendly Yorkshire. It’s not a bad day for a mid-January, and it’s put me in a happy mood. This is unusual for me, because the mere sight of a train packed full of people usually puts me into a darker mood than Satan himself. It’s usually at that point you wouldn’t want to read my thoughts. Not that it’s possible mind; our civilisation has yet to become intelligent enough to make a machine to read people’s minds. Intelligent enough to make chocolate Hobnobs, but tasty biscuit to brain reading equipment is a considerable jump.

I find myself in such a good mood that even the hour-long wait at Newark Northgate doesn’t dampen my spirits. In fact, it goes quicker than ever. I contemplate buying a coffee several times, but realise that I’ve never ordered one before from a coffee shop and the fear that I’d get laughed at for asking for a coffee instead of a triple lattee mocho-choco-chino is just too much. I put the thought out of my mind as I walk past the smug coffee shop worker (I swear he’s got mind reading equipment as well as chocolate hobnobs, bastard) and prepare to board the train to Wakefield that never has no seats.

Anyone would think people run away from London every Sunday by the amount of people that are on this train, but I’m not fazed by having to stand up for half an hour, so imagine my joy when I spot one of those semi-chairs (basically a bench bolted to the wall at an odd angle) that they have in between carriages on trains. Although it was free, I didn’t really do much sitting on it. More leaning and standing really, as these are quite possibly the most poorly designed excuse for a bench I’ve ever seen.

There was a downside to sitting on the bench however, and that was that I had a direct view straight into the toilet. Couple that with what seemed to be a chronic pissing disorder going around the carriage (I swear nearly every passenger went to that toilet in the space of 20 minutes), and I became very sick of seeing the inside of the bog. The train crew had clearly been giving the passengers buckets of water to drink from, instead of the more traditional drinking cup.

CONTINUED HERE

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Who am I?

I'm Craig Burgess. I'm a graphic designer. I like writing (obviously), and I've been doing it for as long as I can remember. I also take a keen interest in photography, even though I take a lot of pictures of my thumbs and fingers.

Stuff I Like

The Last
Leck My Arse
A Word In Your Ear
...and this Republic is in Panic.
Darfuria
RewiredMind

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