Sunday, 13 March 2011

London was over a fortnight ago, let it drop already

So during my London stint I stayed in an awesome B&B with a huge comfortable bed, as much tea and coffee as my stomach could stomach and an en-suite sink just the right height for peeing in if one were so inclined. That's top-class luxury right there. But then I tried to go web surfing, and what do I find but no internet. Nary the whiff of wireless.

How do you have no internet these days? It's like having no air. You just can't help but have it. You'd think they'd at least try to steal the neighbour's connection for the sake of the guests. So for two weeks I had no access to the vast repository of knowledge that is the World Wide Web. And by knowledge I mean porn, of course.

I'd like you to take a moment to think about just how convenient the internet makes your perversities - how easy it is just to type something like '' into your browser and bam: the next two minutes of your evening sorted. You don't know how good you've got it until one day it's not there, then suddenly you find yourself having to go out to some seedy corner shop owned by a suspicious Russian guy with a wool cap and a beard you could hide children in, and he's watching you as you take a DVD down from the highest shelf - and they're always on the highest shelves, aren't they, so when you pick it up you're basically holding your purchase as high in the air as possible and going "Hey everyone! Look! Look at what I'm buying! Avert your eyes! Clutch your children! For I am buying PORNOGRAPHY!" - and then you've got to take it to the counter and there's a bunch of old ladies behind you and you know that they're just tut-tutting under their breath and Russian guy is staring at you grinning as you try to put it down somewhere on the counter where no-one else will see it. Actually, wait, no he's not, to him you're just another customer buying another product and he doesn't care in the slightest. But he smells funny so I'm going to call him a cunt anyway. What a cunt.

Right I'm off to bed.

(RandomTwat is brought to you by WhyCanYouNotKeepAFuckingSchedule Industries, in association with MakingJokesAboutItDoesntMakeItBetter & Co)

Thursday, 3 March 2011

First-Class Idiocy OH LOOK I PUNNED

So I'm waiting at the station to get a train to London because three days previously I was offered a two-week work experience post at a big-name publishing house and I seized onto it like it was cyanide at a Twilight Saga marathon.  I also have a first-class train ticket because I am a man who appreciates the finer things in life, such as last-minute discounted ticket upgrades.

Anyway, I'm on the platform, and there's a sign, and this sign says 'This way to the First-Class waiting lounge'. Should you ever chance to be on this platform, standing at the point where I stood, and should you happen to see this sign and look in the direction it points, you would notice, as I did, that the First-Class lounge is really really frigging far away. Like, you'd need an extra ticket just to bloody get down to it. And that joke falls flat on its face becase you do in fact need an extra ticket to get down to it, namely the first class ticket, but shut your face.

I was also informed before coming onto the platform that the First-Class lounge was closed for "redecorative purposes". So there was, on the face of it, no reason for me to attempt the arduous stroll necessary to get down to it.  Nevertheless, ladies and gentlemen, having mulled it over, I decided to do so anyway.

"Oh, Random Twat, why's that?" I hear you cry. Actually wait no I don't, I hear "Is there a point to this, you meandering cunt?" Bear with me.

So I came to a conclusion and it goes something like this: the First Class ticket is meant to make your journey akin to lounging in a chair made of kitten fur and tits. So despite the arduous trek to reach it, the First Class lounge must have been put where it is in order to make your journey just that bit more convenient and stress-free, right? Now, how could it be convenient and stress-free if you have to lug your suitcase across the feet of about fifty people on the way to getting there? It can't just be that the station designers thought you'd appreciate the comfort more if you have to work for it, because the sort of people who regularly travel First Class tend to view hard work as what poor people are for. It must, therefore, be that its position is of such convenience that it overrides this drawback.

I have also, with my keen insight, noted that First-Class carriages tend to be attached to the end of the train they're on, and so turn up at the very edge of the station. So the only reason that the First-Class lounge should be up there, thought I, is if the First-Class train carriage turned up at THAT end.

So, thought I, what I'm going to do is, I'm going to be dead clever and go up there so I don't have to dally around trying to find the find the right carriage after I'm in the train! Genius, no?

So I'm going to go ahead and let you guess which end of the train the First-Class carriage turned out to be on. I ended up having to barge through about twelve carriages' worth of old people and screeching babies with a suitcase just slightly wider than the train itself.

Now, irritating as it was, it's not that that annoys me. I mean it's not on the same level as, say, being kneecapped. (Not that I have been kneecapped, but I imagine it's pretty up there on the scale of things that ruin your day.) What DOES annoy me is that should I ever find myself relating this anecdote to anyone who knows me, I guarantee their reaction is going to be something like "Ho ho ho, oh Random Twat, what a spanner you are. Will you ever learn to think?" I'm pretty sure that thinking is what got me into the damn situation in the first place. So I've decided to stop, and see how I get on. I mean, most other people seem to manage.

Wow, that's a lame ending to a lame article, so I'm also going to complain about this.

I saw at least three people dragging bags of approximately this size. I haven't got toiletry bags that fucking small. Just what the hell are these people carrying that's so tiny you could fit it in a pocket, yet so cumbersome that they need to cart it around on wheels? The only thing that springs to mind is plutonium rods, so anyone with a bag like this is obviously a terrorist and should be arrested. And if it's not plutonium rods then anyone with a bag like this should be arrested anyway because they're a bell-end.