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September 23rd, 2018

Shit Cunt Fuck Arse Bollocks

Here is a transcript of today. Read to the end.



So there I was sat in Business Premier (first class) on the Eurostar. More wine Madame? Some champagne Madame, it is Le Weekend! Madame knows this, and duly obliged the staff. Just to be helpful, of course.

And then it became very, very apparent, that there was a young man with tourettes sat 2 rows back. A transcript, as I typed as he hollared.:



That dog just peed on me.

Shark attack, shark attack!

Fuck off you mangy fucker and sit back in your seat.

Woof, woof woof!

I'm picking my nose.

I can't help it, wahoooooooooooooooooo.

French people are horrible anyway,

The food smells like dog sick.

This is terrible, I'm getting off now (at 294 kmph).

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

Why is everybody black. Is France black people?

Can we go to the fair?

Arse Arse! I didn't bring shorts. And it's raining now.

Now, to go back a step, I am sitting opposite a couple I shall, refer to as Dom and Steff, aka the poshies on Gogglebox. He is louche, probably 60+, but with the ease of a moneyed person, light tan, just got back from somewhere. Suede loafers. Half moon glasses. She is brittle, botoxed, bottle blonde and seething. They don't talk, they comment and bicker. He lifts his fingers, as if in prayer, and rolls his eyes right up. She talks away, looking anywhere but at him, but still they converse, in snippets, or snipes. He thinks the drunk bugger (tourettes bloke) should be thrown off the train. And all I can think is, they have everything they could possibly want. Except passion, freedom and understanding. He's English, but converses with the staff in easy French. She calls ahead and book a restaurant, also in French, although she's clearly American.

He smells funny.

I can't shit on a train. You can't make me.

Cunt Cunt Cunt. All cunts.

"Would you like a drink sir"

"Do you have Cherry Coke"

"No sir"

"Then fuck off you fucking twat, why do you even ask me if you haven't got things I like"

Elephants can't jump.

Why SHOULD I be quiet, you be quiet.

What would happen if a swarm of bees got in here.

I don't like turquoise. It's made up.

France is shitty shit shit and full of shitters.

Why is that woman's hair purple. Unbelievably stupid.

At this stage, first class is agog. Too polite to say anything, too restrained to react. I have my fist stuffed in my mouth, making high pitched whining sounds, trying not to guffaw. Not at him, at them.

Needless to say, he carried on. For 2 hours.

At one stage, I got up and staggered to the toilet, trying not to howl with laughter. Not at him, although he was bloody funny. But at the seething moral outrage in the carriage. The mutterings. The eye rolls and the nudges.

Naturally, not a single person moved to Economy.

Sent it all to Rod, he has the same warped SOH.

Sep. 23rd, 2018

I had an hour and a half on the phone with a funny, intelligent man, and I'm going on a date with him next weekend. He's from POF. POF is 90% dire, with all the usual chancers and no-hopers, but there are a couple I'm interested in.

Caught up with the 'rents, did the absolute minimum in terms of housework, Ebayed a tad, watched Bodyguard and Vanity Fair, with Fatso smothering me, and have generally relaxed.

Stuck to my diet plan today, gym tomorrow, and I'm going to bed at a decent time :)

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maitressep
Call me Madam

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