Pains
I walked out the door in the morning, took two steps, slipped on an icy patch and went crashing down, scraping my left shin and wrenching my left knee, and now I am hobbling round like an old lady. Yes! I’m definitely back in the UK.
Canary Wharf looked quite spectacular this morning from the 22nd floor. The whole of the space from us to the City was filled with mist, from which the buildings rose glittering and white.
There was an odious moustachioed twerp on the train at London Bridge. I had already let one Jubilee line train go because it was so crowded. Managed to squeeze onto the 2nd one, in which the moustachioed twerp was already riding, comfortably propping his puckered little rear-end against the reclining seats. Someone behind me, still on the platform, made the standard call: Can you move down please! And the twerp mutters in an ineffably pleased-with-himself tone: “There’s another train right behind.”
Oh, yes, mate, you’re alright. You’re already on the train. You don’t know how many trains that guy on the platform has already been forced to miss. You don’t know if there’s another train right behind. You’re alright, as you sit there reading your dreary little paper on Structured Finance, oozing self-satisfaction from every pore. So you have to make everyone else’s day just that much more perfect by casting your little turd of bile and dysfunction onto the waters. Cretin. I hope his moustache falls off into his soup and he eats it and it chokes him.
I don’t like moustaches.
Canary Wharf looked quite spectacular this morning from the 22nd floor. The whole of the space from us to the City was filled with mist, from which the buildings rose glittering and white.
There was an odious moustachioed twerp on the train at London Bridge. I had already let one Jubilee line train go because it was so crowded. Managed to squeeze onto the 2nd one, in which the moustachioed twerp was already riding, comfortably propping his puckered little rear-end against the reclining seats. Someone behind me, still on the platform, made the standard call: Can you move down please! And the twerp mutters in an ineffably pleased-with-himself tone: “There’s another train right behind.”
Oh, yes, mate, you’re alright. You’re already on the train. You don’t know how many trains that guy on the platform has already been forced to miss. You don’t know if there’s another train right behind. You’re alright, as you sit there reading your dreary little paper on Structured Finance, oozing self-satisfaction from every pore. So you have to make everyone else’s day just that much more perfect by casting your little turd of bile and dysfunction onto the waters. Cretin. I hope his moustache falls off into his soup and he eats it and it chokes him.
I don’t like moustaches.
posted by FBT at 7:37 pm
6 Comments:
I too have twisted my knee (a bizarre incident on a train at London Bridge this morning) and am hobbling round like an old lady too.
I also dislike upper lip facial hair.
i also twisted my ankle and scrapped my knee really bad late Oct while walking on grass in heels.... my ankle is still not exactly the same....
hope you feel better soon.
Paul Morris taking the tube - what a step up from the HKIED!
Ouch! Shin scrapes are the worst in my opinion - they hurt like hell and take for ever to get better. Hope that's not going to be the case for you.
I don't like moustaches either but I do have a weakness for men in full beards (as opposed to goatees). Daniel Craig for instance looks much better in a beard.
Full beards, yes, you wouldn't catch a man with a full beard acting in such a prattish way. Oh I'm getting all nostalgic for those Open University programmes of the 70s. Especially the incomprehensible ones with the mathematicians.
ooh don't get me started on those delightful seventies collars and the brown trousers
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