Something about trains, AGAIN

There are people – judgemental types, obviously nothing like me because I have never judged anybody in my life and am well fair and shit – who will always tell you to ‘go outside’, ‘do things’ and ‘live life’ or whatever nonsense fills their spongy wet things inside their heads.

Regardless of what you think about what they tell you to do and not do, because obviously we all want to be told what to do and what not to do all the fucking time, there are times when you can’t help but feel guilty about the judgements they’re passing on you. Yes, I missed out on fourteen hours of fun times because I was too busy sitting indoors slaying dragons with my elven brethren and I enjoyed it and I will do it again, but I still feel a bit sorry, in a way, for what many would consider is wasting my time.

Which is why I love train journeys so much. Obviously I hate them, they’re horrible, cramped, expensive and full of the worst people alive, but at the same time there’s something special about them – they’re so utterly guilt-free. Nobody can have a go at you for ‘wasting time’ or ‘not living your life’ when you’re cramped in a metal box being thrown halfway across the country at reasonable speeds while being served very bad quality coffee for extortionate prices.

Sorry, can’t go to the park – on a train. Sorry, no point turning the computer off – on a train. Sorry, can’t talk – on a train. Sorry, can’t bathe this week – on a train. Sorry, going to eat the worst food in the world for the next few months, pile on the pounds and die of a heart attack by 29 – on a train.

Wait, I lost my point there.

Trains are guilt-free. As stressful and utterly shit as they are, the purity of the experience is something I relish. And the fact I’m an expert at spending time in my own company, on a computer, means I’m absolutely in my element. I do things like writing blogs, like this.



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