This, this this!
Been trying to get much better at converting these repeat encounters into exchanges of names and subsequently contact details since moving up to Leeds.
This, this this!
Been trying to get much better at converting these repeat encounters into exchanges of names and subsequently contact details since moving up to Leeds.
I carry tissues but sometimes I just have to sniff as well or my nose would be red raw from all the tissue action by the end of each day. I got allergies and thereās not a huge amount I can do about it
Youāre reminded me of a really mortifying moment a few years ago. Iād not got a tissue on me and Iād got a bit of a sniff on. And a woman in the seat across the aisle said āexcuse meā and offered me a tissue! Never again will I go tissueless on the train, UP, never again.
Iāve considered handing them out to the gak queen who gets on at the station after me and sniffs and snorts the whole way.
I hear you, I suffer from chronic sinusitis and Iām limited as to what drugs I can take for it because of breastfeeding, so I have a stuffy nose, which out of nowhere can miraculously unblock and start running like a stream (a joyous, joyous stream)
I put Elizabeth Arden 8 hour cream on the end of my nose and use balsam tissues.
(and the people Iām talking about donāt even attempt to put a tissue near their nose once in a 40 minute train journey.)
(Excuse my naivety, but) is she sniffing and snorting because sheās just done a load of coke prior to travelling to work? Or is she sniffing and snorting because sheās knackered up her nose from all the drugs?
Itās a whole world I know very little of.
Might be a cultural thing too. Blow your nose into a tissue in public in Japan, for example, and youāll be regarded as disgusting.
On my old commute there was a bloke who was an exact replica of Neil Morrisey. The poor guy always looked really self-conscious - like he just knew that half the train was looking at him thinking āWow, that guy doesnāt half look like Neil Morrisey!ā.
Swear an evening standard vendor is following me - used to hawk papers outside London Bridge and then made the move to Waterloo as soon as I started using that station instead.
Heās got Big silly hair and is really enthusiastic
I use balsam tissues as necessity but find it tends to block my pores and cause full-on teenager spots around my nose after a period of heavy nose-blowing. Which is currently exactly what has happened
clones of the same white, balding, aggressive businessman.
ITS KURNS STUPID
This guy looks like the sort to draw a mark on the train station platform in chalk:
they ALL look like massive cunts.
Brompton Wanker. We both prefer the same seat (solo seat with table) and Iām always there before him. He spends the whole journey opposite in the lesser of the solo seats (no table, right against the loo) glaring at me, when heās not noisily eating his homemade granola or whatever shite it is.
This guy has a friendly enough face
But heād turn on you in an instant.
Cambridge eh? What a bunch of wankers.
EDIT: additional: I often share the cycling part of my commute with a Brompton Wanker. Heās ridiculously quick on that thing, mind, and has the biggest shins Iāve ever seen. Occasionally Iāll try to race him down Regent Street. I havenāt told him weāre racing, but weāre racing.
On my cycle to my old workplace, Iād pass an old man at a bus stop who would wave to some people as they went past. The stop was outside an OAPs home, so I assumed he was part of that place. After a few weeks of wave-envy I decided enough was enough and started giving him a little wave, and sure enough, I started getting reciprocal waves back. It was a great way to start my day, really made me.feel like part of the community.
Some days heād even give a little flourish or a little dance with his wave making me smile, though I couldnāt return anything similar as Iād be on my bike. Heād sometimes say something too, so Iād shout back āMorning!ā keeping our fleeting friendship alive and building this bond.
Then one morning I was cycling past a bit slower than normal (knackered), Iād given him a big wave in advance and as usual I got the friendly smile and the wave back. Only this time I heard what the guy was saying.
āFuck off, you never listen to me anyway!ā.
Shocked I pulled over and shouted back in an exasperated British way āwell, well, well I heard that!ā.
I was outraged all the rest of the way to work and told workmates about the discovery that Iād been being sassed on a daily basis. They just said āwell were you fucking listening to him?ā and it was at that moment I realised that it was I who was the bad guy in the story.
I realised that if I was a decent person that I should stop en route and chat with him every morning, and hear his stories. That was what he really wanted and thatās what a decent person would do.
The problem was that I was often late for work and was worried heād turn out to be a racist, so instead I found a new route to go to work and just felt bad about it for ages.