Occasionally I am forced out of the leather clad, air conditioned bliss of my car and on to stinking, vomit stained, graffiti decorated public transport. My nearest main train station to my Royal Borough town is Slough so the genetic quality of the passengers cannot be guaranteed.
My owl like vision (ignoring my lazy eye, short sightedness, astigmatism and colourblindness – maybe its me with the genetic issues?), honed in a vacant seat. The once plush blue velour double seat stood out like an oasis in a seat wilderness, tempting me in to quench my sitting down thirst.
I sat down and familiarised myself with the immediate surroundings. It seems I had sat next to an escaped genetic experiment. Try and imagine a walrus that had mated with that big happy genie from Aladdin – this lady was the result, she had lost the blue skin though. She was so fat and so bald I was half convinced it was a post-op Big Daddy.
“Sweets Mummy Sweets, sweets , sweets sweets” shrieked the woman’s toddler.
“Why is you always asking for sweets, why can’t you be asking for chips or somefing”
As this distant descendant of Jabba the Hut continued to verbally abuse her child..
“Shut up innit, I don’t need your bullshit today”
I foraged deep into my “bag o’ bovverds” to try and find some sympathy for the obvious terrible socio-economic background she had come from, but the bag was bare.
I will write to Great Western trains to suggest they operate the carriages in a tax bracket system, 40% at the front, working your way down the carraiges to the unemployed on the roof, thus meaing I wouldn’t have to suffer such an unpleasant journey in the future.