London was quiet as expected, the extra Bank Holiday was just a day off too much for most people but not everyone. I thought at first he was wearing a sort of furry red tracksuit but as I approached the gentleman in question the Super, who was escorting him towards the stairs without making physical contact, declared “The state of that!” and when the stench hit me I realised that the red fur was in fact red wine vomit.
He was coated from his neck down to his feet, I hope he lived locally as it was bitterly cold and there was no way on Earth a minicab driver was going to allow him in the back. When I found where he’d been sitting you could clearly see the “void” in the “splatter”, as they say on CSI, obviously he’d sat down, passed out and then chundered over himself. I pity the poor cleaners who had to deal with that mess.
Last night was so windy that Wood Lane wanted the first train to go coded from WER to WHC in order to check if any trees or branches had blown onto the line. It would have helped if when I changed ends to go EB I discovered that the train that Ruislip depot gave me had more than one light working or that the one light that did work had been slightly brighter than a dead firefly in a dirty jam jar.
I suppose that would require Wood Lane to communicate with the depot during the night which is just too much to ask.
The year schoolboys collected conkers for war
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