It be odd how the simple act of having a break in a journey makes it feel as much shorter as it does. My trips to Manchester in the past (a place which I am annoyed I no longer have to go to: not for the reasons people might expect, but because I’m missing out on all the brilliance that is Mario Balotelli – he went to church in Chorlton on Christmas. I COULD HAVE BEEN THERE. Stupid job in the south stopping me from meeting my new footballing hero. Also he could have given me a thousand pounds for no real reason. Or ten thousand, I’m not picky) were always to bloody long.
Five hours, usually more thanks to trains being utterly shit, in one sitting is not a Super Fun Time. If anything, it’s a bit of shit time. I may have complained about it in the past, I’m not sure. But switching it up a bit, like I am doing here by going Leeds-London-Bournemouth, makes it easier on the brain. Here’s a quick summation of how the brain works on a five-plus hour journey:
YEAH I GOTS FOOD AND TV SHOWS AND MOVIES AND NOBODY’S SAT NEXT TO ME THIS IS A WELL GAY TIME IN THE OLD SENSE OF THE WORD.
Yeah I gots some food and drink left and I’m still watching something and I’m not bored of it yet and there was somebody sat next to me for ten minutes but they’ve fucked off now fortunately.
Is this over yet oh wait no there’s two hours left at the very least but the train hasn’t moved in twenty minutes and I’m bored of watching things and the headphones hurt my ears and I think I’m going to stab this fat stinky bastard sat next to me and this isn’t worth this much money I wish Jon Snow would ask a question I suggested on Channel 4 News and ohwhyisn’tthisoveryet.
Brain numb. Ass painful. Sitting not fun. Can’t stand up, people will steal seat and/or belongings. Hatred rising. Been coughed on or at so many times. Other people: they are indeed hell. The train company should pay me to put up with this shit. I hate everything.
AND THEN EVERYONE DIES.