COLUMN: The Ely Grumpster on commuting
PUBLISHED: 08:29 14 August 2018
• So it’s back to work I go (hey ho, hey ho).
Sitting forlornly on the 06 12 to King’s Cross this week (or 6:45 when sleep was rendered sporadic by Doris’ volcanic snoring) has brought into sharp focus the mind-boggling variety of irritants with whom I am forced to co-exist in the germ-laden world of commuting. Here are just a few:
• Mobile phone bore - perennial moan of mine. Why are you shouting? Why do you have to keep droning on until the tunnels shut you up?
Most importantly, why do you think anybody has the remotest interest in your son dead lifting 250kg, that Dave in Accounts is as thick as a whale omelette, or the fact that your stupid cat has been stuck up a tree for 3 days?
• Social media sharer - almost exclusively teenage girls who shriek and squeal uncontrollably at a clip of drunken Mum on a hen do, or Dad incinerating the Sunday roast.
• The “catching up on sleep” merchant – man-spreading, mouth gaping open, breath that can bring down an elephant, saliva running down his chin and generating a racket paramount to a meat grinder processing a shopping trolley.
Worth waiting for the “jerk awake suddenly” moment, where his unfortunate neighbour, already hacked off by his massive greasy head resting on her shoulder, is smacked in the mush by a flailing arm.
• The easily bored dullard – an ADHD twin of the mobile phone bore. Won’t read (other than 5 minutes flicking through Hello magazine), can’t doze and has no interest in the view.
For the next hour and a half, the whole carriage is subjected to this idiot’s inane chatter about soaps, reality TV and fashion. Trump could replace water boarding with ten minutes in the company of this amoeba. The prisoners would be screaming for mercy within 15 minutes.
• The “work is not just for the office” enthusiast - papers spread all over the table, minimum of three mobiles, handbag on neighbouring seat, bashing away furiously at a laptop.
If you are really unlucky, this corporate titan will join a conference call. Kill me now.
• Closing thought. Queen of Pink, Katie Price is due in court over an unpaid tax bill for £25k. She is worth £46m. Maybe a meeting with the Accountant is called for Jords?
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