I believe what was ACTUALLY said was {and I quote}: "Do you live with your head in a fucking BUCKET of sand?"
I cannot express to you how loathsome the return journey was from the very moment we parted; suffice to say, I, er, he, missed my, er, his, earlier train, nearly wet myself, got wet, went to bed without any tea, had an argument with the scouser rent-a-yobs posing as railway 'security' and then when I finally made it onto the train {a train, any train, I DON'T care which train} I had to hunker down amongst the wide-eyed girls with their runny mascara along with their pot-puffing wide-boy boyfriends all cock-a-hoop and cock-of-the-walk with alcohol-fuelled aggression {notably because of the organisational shambles at the railway station and the never-ending queue for the bogs {never was a word more appropriate for describing THOSE facilities}.
I believe what was ACTUALLY said was {and I quote}: "Do you live with your head in a fucking BUCKET of sand?"
ReplyDeleteI cannot express to you how loathsome the return journey was from the very moment we parted; suffice to say, I, er, he, missed my, er, his, earlier train, nearly wet myself, got wet, went to bed without any tea, had an argument with the scouser rent-a-yobs posing as railway 'security' and then when I finally made it onto the train {a train, any train, I DON'T care which train} I had to hunker down amongst the wide-eyed girls with their runny mascara along with their pot-puffing wide-boy boyfriends all cock-a-hoop and cock-of-the-walk with alcohol-fuelled aggression {notably because of the organisational shambles at the railway station and the never-ending queue for the bogs {never was a word more appropriate for describing THOSE facilities}.
Gay? Proud? I think not.
ps. greetings from ANON of Buckinghamshire