Left my flat yesterday to travel to the darkest north it involved the Piccadilly line and somewhere called “Finsbury Park” which after looking on Google maps is on the outskirts of Solihull. My friend R &E where insisting on moving house to another Wolverhampton suburbs called “Green lanes” (this being the Midlands it didn’t have a tuft of vegetation and the “lane” was a congested high street full of men with tashes driving cars on their own.
Here’s some stuff that I saw and did on the way there and here:
2 Russians (B &G) sat on the step of our flat smoking and drinking at 10 am wearing very British pyjamas they looked like they were sneaking a quick gasper on a war time hospital fire escape.
“There’s one born ever minute alt: Euston we have problem”
Our train didn’t stop at Euston because one young Londoner was being born on the platform, hopefully it went ok).
Waiting outside the station in Walsaw I got abused by a ballerina for trying to point out her bag was open leaving all her trinkets on display for scally wags of west midlands to pilther.
“Read my arm”
After Miss Tootightbun IwasonlytryingtobenicewhydontUbuggaov had skulked off a very striking Rock a Billy 1950’s girl appeared, she had the full fig on, hair in a scarf, peddle ushers, check shirt, sleeve less denim jacket with “Mrs snake bite” on the back and some tats. The only odd thing was that a big rose tat bore the legend “anti-fashion” underneath. Which just seemed a bit of a weak thing to have on a tattoo particularly on someone so precisely dolled up. Anyway she strode of purposefully towards the bus to Coventry; maybe its a Nottingham thing; vaguely angry but ultimately slightly pointless body art. Thankfully E turned up to stop my musing.
Driving around “green lanes” we marvelled at how all the locals cars were powered by loud music some it had strident repetitive beat structure others was that waily female vocal stuff they sell on cassette in Turkish shops. The radio was playing old songs in our van so we joined the battle Martha and Vandellas had us dancing in the street and presumably knowing we were in the Black country on came “black dog” by ver ‘Zep which had us head banging and making “the sign” and winning the loudest car stereo battle by a country mile.
So after a very good pizza and a lot of cooling drinks we were done
Life through a lens
All that was left is to tell you about the world’s most annoying litter lout:
On the overland safely back in that proper London I was sat opposite a bunch of Kent dwellers, some 50plus types and possibly their 30 something daughters. One of the younger women does something icky to her eye and out pops her contact lens and with out thinking she flicks it on the floor. One more icky scraping picky thing and a flick and the other lens is sticking to the vinyl. All this while the good burghers of Sevenoaks chat away about their night at “les Mis” or whatever.
Now I know it’s not a stinking half eaten take away or a gunk spilling smoothie bottle but come on, in some ways it was even worse because they were so tiny, it was like saying there’s no amount of crud however so small that am I prepared to get rid of properly, I’m not even prepared to dispose of 3 grams of plastic in a bin.
Of course I was even more pissed off as it meant I had to take the paper I was reading home even though I’d only just picked it up!
Contact wearers are always morally flawed what’s wrong with specs you vain git!