So... there was no blog yesterday and I'm terribly ashamed of myself. However, theoretically you'll get two today so you can all stop chewing your pillow cases in despair. I'm still your typey little bitch.
I just seem to be having a few train issues at the moment. Who doesn't love a good train issue? Last night I bombed it down to the West Country for an impending weekend of craziness with relatives. However, I was already cutting it fine by about 5pm when I realised I had a lot to achieve in one evening... I finished work at 5:30 and then had to run home in what can only be described as a cloudburst. It wasn't that it was raining cats and dogs, it was raining cats eating dogs who had amorous intentions for the afore mentioned cats. Bucketing. Pissing it down. Sheets of rain. Rain going sideways. And me in the middle.
Naturally, the inclement weather made everyone dash for the underground where the helpful staff advised us to be careful because it was slippy. We advised back that it's hard to slip when you're stood stock still in the queue you've been in for half an hour. Slipping requires movement.
I sandwiched myself into a damp armpit on the tube and trundelled to my stop before having another 20 minute run like a damp rat through Bermondsey. A few van drivers honked their horns in an either ironic sort of cameradery or a deep appreciation for '90s Gothic eye make up.
I got home and had precisely 14 minutes to pack enough clothes for a weekend's trip to Dorset, family reunion, camping and possible days out. I managed it in 9 minutes which means that when I double check my suitcase later on, I will probably have to fashion an outfit for the family barbecue made of 8 thongs, a flipflop and my housemates's cardigan. There's something about packing in a hurry that makes me absolutely convinced I won't need most of the integral items from my room. I am a fool.
Then I had to buy a tent. Yep. I had 7 minutes to buy a tent from somewhere between Old Kent Road and Paddington station. Now, as much as I 'love' the Old Kent Road, it's not really the place to look for tents. So, I have a tent from Tesco. Yep. I have a Tesco tent. Not having time to check it out yet, I've not yet discovered whether it's made entirely from bin bags or used onion netting but either way I'm not sure it's going to be particularly effective at keeping me comfortable or dry in any situation. Even if I pitched it at The Ritz and it wasn't raining, I feel like this is the sort of tent that will actively seek out ants nests and rain. I'm excited.
With my tent, emo face and soggy clothes bundled into a suitcase, I then made my way to Paddington. I had an argument with a bagel man who took my order (salt beef on poppy), asked if I wanted a drink (I did), and then gave away the last poppy bagel to the man behind me while I was getting a drink. He was totally confused by my anger. I had already ordered the poppy bagel. He knew this. I knew this. The man behind me may not have known this, he is not to blame. But when he asked for a poppy bagel, the answer should have been - "Sorry, this squelchy girl here has just ordered it." Not, "Sure, she's too wet to even taste the seeds. Mange away."
So, anyway, I had to have a cheese bagel instead. I bought two donuts too (one of which, I've just realised is now in my bed having emptied my handbag this morning. That, is going to be disgusting. Please let me remember it when I crawl in later.) and I was really looking forward to sitting with my bagel and my donuts for my 2 hour journey home.
This was not to be the case. The train was RAMMED, I would describe it as "standing room only" except that there wasn't really any room to stand either. And there were hordes of mind numbingly annoying people traipsing up and down the aisles looking for seats. Why bother? Surely, if you are pushing your way through 40 standing, irritated passengers in the gangway, you have enough faith in humanity to accept that if there were seats, these people would not be standing around looking moody and tired? Stay still dickhead, stay still.
But I made it home... and now I am on another "train". I say train, but I think it's actually a bus masquerading as a train. It's held together with wood, spit and lemon curd and is trekking me deep into the heart of the West Country to a place where everyone is called "Bird" and people have less signal than a paraplegic semaphore operative. Gutted.
If I survive this trip you should get the first instalment of "Cousin's Reunion Weekend - Live from the action on Day 1" as early as this evening. Be prepared for mayhem.