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Good Day ‘Camp’ers.

An alternative look at today’s metro news and the people reading it. Friday fab!

Refreshed and rejuvenated this morning had a few days off to contemplate the meaning of it all. Sanity unfortunately returned as a consequence of sober worms post weekend, poor wrigglers with only a sterile solution to live on. Imagine if you put some cocktail cherries in a saline solution for a few days and then back into 50% brandy it would take a few days for it to permeate and restore the natural healthy balance. That steady state equilibrium prevails once more – Carpe Diem.

6 seat booth, CD and three 30 or 40 something women. P. Jane next to me, Moley diagonal, and slim attractive, no ring, writing on photocopied literature opposite (size 10 hands) – She can be my obsession today. Lit is ‘Attribution of Losses’, she sees me scribbling away and asks me if I would like a piece of paper – Nice smile. No thanks I reply thinking I much prefer size 8’s. We pull into West Harrow and loss assessor sneers at something on the platform, pond life probably.
That meaning of life thingy – it really is quite a difficult one? It’s also dangerous when I think too much, “it makes me think too much, it keeps my mind on my mind”. Starving worms of OH’s allows them plenty of time to consider the problem as opposed to usually sleeping it off.

James Brown in live 8 – Bad hair life! Those Edinburgh’ers are not racist like us lot. Omi IPOD dares to invade my territory, sweet soul music on t-shirt – Idiot. Harrow on the hill and the driver as usual sails past all desirable additions to booth harem. Do they not do emergency stop training for train driving? Gorgeous oriental girl gets on and completes the six, small everything. “Drinking fountains are shorter than they used to be”. Small and thin fingers, double effect - size and girth. That’s my area full and I’m happy apart from the sole wanker. Risk assessor is writing notes in margin, much neater than me, but isn’t red so confrontational?

Change of seasons – Dream Theater moves onto covers. “Sweet Soul” FFS – bad hair music sonny! Look, “You've got to understand, we must remain Perfect Strangers”.

You know in the morning when it’s like not worth living because you were up ‘til 3am drinking and 4am looking for more, you have to go to the pub at lunch. The other day I rummaged around and found 8 quid (3 Directors) in change; foreign bar staff know me well. Aren’t they fab, they work for less pay and always smile even though they can’t understand mad Englishman.

Wembley Park and I notice there’s a sort of geographically induced apartheid developing. All the seats are taken by White guys and all the Black guys have to stand. Is that racist, everything else is it seems these days, BB? Jesus! Black carriage (you know the one by the doors) is joined by big fat slap with 4 tits – she’s happy eyeing up where her next baby is coming from.

Biggest African aid donors are African. Some guy sends a few bob back to his family and that’s it? Come on metro that’s not f’ing donating!

Onto Bakerloo and quite a few get off, Momma with attitude muscles way to front and stops as soon as she gets on, glares at everyone else for pushing past. CD announces in headline fashion, “Big fat girl shows attitude” probably a little too loud as MP3 is cranked up, and is glared at by insipid looking skinny hippie girl until Oxford St. She probably had a complex about her arse and thought I meant her.

Chooses bland asexual girl for escalator experiment. Closes eyes and thinks of England football team managers’ girlfriend.

CD 010705