#4. Trains

Being a student who didn’t possess a car, I happened to use the train an awful lot over my time at university. Because of this regular travel on our nation’s trains I have seen it all. From Fiona Bruce on the platform (the most attractive news broadcaster since Michael Fish), to a man trying to brake into a vending machine, to a dog shit on a chair. These examples though are all of the positive experiences I have had on mass transit (though the dog’s turd was rank).

First, and most obvious, the price: £120 for a return to London at peak time? What the fuck?! For that you could price you can fly to Zurich (I have checked, I don’t just know this). I went to university in Lincoln and a one way ticket there can cost you up to £40. It is a 3 hour journey, why such a high price? Is it the high level of service you receive, with rude staff in the ticket office, the even grumpier staff on the platform or the bewilderingly dry ticket taker guy on the train? Or is it the high standards in the train itself, when you are not always guaranteed a seat, a complete lack of luggage racks or that the train itself is always either far too hot or far too cold? Quite simply where does all the money you pay go?

I remember a day some years ago, I can’t have been any older than 10, when my mother, father, brother and I met some close family friends (who actually first introduced my parents to each other) in Wales. I remember having a lovely picnic, then going on an old fashioned steam train. We were sat in one of the small compartments of the carriage, watching the world go by, and it is actually one of my fondest memories. If steam trains were still widely in operation I don’t think I’d mind the long journeys at a high price, as there is a lot of charm in this form of travel. This charm has completely disappeared though due to the technological advances (of sorts) in train travel. All of the excitement has been replaced by mind numbing boredom, bad smells and noise.

Noise. What a wanker. The train is too loud to hear the music you are trying to occupy yourself with, to stop the tedious journey from taking its toll, and yet if you turn the volume up the stranger sat next to you asks you politely to turn it down. Turn it down? I still can’t hear it, how can you?

The quiet carriage: I fully understand that some travellers (by which I do not mean gypsies) wouldn’t want to listen to the constant stories and squeals from the group of girls at the end of your carriage (though I find listening to their trauma quite therapeutic), and others may have work to do, but lets face it your not going to get too much done whilst bouncing around the uneven tracks of Norfolk (take that Norfolk). And this carriages is everything but quiet at its quietest. The driver on the tannoy (public address system) shouting out the names of all the village stations you’ve never heard of while no one gets on or off, then the streams of people flooding through to get to the watering hole (food carriage thingy (I was just enjoying the water theme)).

What never I understand is why they organise trains by such precise times. The 13:41 to Matlock. Everyone knows that it will arrive late then leave late due to a signal failure, so why get my hopes up that I will actually be able to catch my next train when you already know that there is no chance. Surely it would be better to just say the 13:41ish to Matlock. Do you know the main cause of a train arriving late? It’s because it is shit, slow and made from an old Austin Maxi. Why is it that your train, the train you will be spending a good 4 hours on is always old and slow? Then you are passed constantly by other trains travelling at 400mph that are able to run smoothly without nearly falling over at every turn.

Now that I have discussed (or just told you) some of my views on trains, I will take a little break from my rage and just talk about my average journey. Let’s just say I’m making a trip up to Birmingham to see my brother. I won’t talk to you about changing trains etc as this is rather trivial unless you are planning a trip to Birmingham. I arrive at Ipswich station, knowing that I have a good 4 hours of ‘me’ time ahead. Now if it were just me on the train it would be fine, but most people annoy the hell out of me, so this isn’t a great start. Anyway I’m sat on my first train. I’ve decided not to use my ipod straight away as it will be an invaluable tool later on, so I try to just sit and be peaceful. This doesn’t work however as I am not a peaceful person so I try to listen to the conversations of those around me. Thankfully my first train doesn’t take too long as I am already bored rigid. So I arrive at my first change and I panic. There is an Upper Crust. I love a good baguette, but these are fairly simple but still expensive. I buy the cheapest one available, a bag of crisps and a chocolate bar and intend to use these tools to quell my boredom. This works for twenty or minutes but then I’m right back to the same problem. Uncontrollably I dive into my ipod and start to swim through songs (water theme again, I couldn’t resist). I’m then told to turn the volume down, as already covered, so I’m back to the same problem. After far too long being utterly brain dead sat on my aluminium mobile prison I arrive into Birmingham. At which point I then realise that Birmingham is no better than where I have come from.

…..

Now I feel I should say that some years ago with some close friends, I enjoyed the only real benefit of a train (apart from unlimited travel). A small group of us were on a long journey to Somerset, which passed through London. We joined the underground at

Liverpool Street

, changed at Bank, headed for Waterloo. For a 15 minute period having left Bank we were completely alone in our carriage, and thought it to be our duty to climb from one end of the carriage to the other without touching the floor. It was a lot of fun and eclipsed the 2 hour wait we had Waterloo before our final train.

I am very, very sorry for rambling on for so long about trains, but, put simply, they are shit (unless due to low demand you find yourself alone).

Sweet dreams.

#3. Photography

Now that I am well in to the swing of things with my archive of aggravation, it isn’t critical to outline its purpose, so I will dive straight into this one.


I find photography in all social contexts, to be the most uncomfortable experience I can think of. The phrase (or word) ‘smile’ is one of the most astonishing parts of the entire ordeal. If you were genuinely happy, there would be no reason to utter the word before taking the picture, so therefore society is asking you to lie about the fact that you are having a rotten time, but showing the world your ‘cheesy grin’.


Why at all notable occasions must there be a ‘photo opportunity’? Has mankind become so lazy that we can not use our brains to remember the good times we have had? And what about the times you’d really rather forget? Someone, unknown to you, has taken a picture at the very second you throw up on a table in a bar (Dave Webb).


My problem with photography is that I look terrible in 9/10 pictures taken of me. You may think it is cliché, but I genuinely do have ‘a good side’, where you cant see the spots on my neck, the way my hair curls at the fringe, and you cant see the confusing spongy shape of my nose (this being said, some women still find me moderately attractive so I’m not exactly Adrian Chiles). The point of how bad I look in pictures was for all to see on my graduation day. I made the mistake of not blocking the right side of my face at all times, that teamed with my poor fake smile means that I wont be setting my eyes on these pictures for some time now.

                                         But here is your chance to.

Not good at all.

I have to be honest with you in saying that I actually enjoy a lot of photography (all that doesn’t include me), whether wildlife, sunsets, pornographic images, porn or porn. I also think that anybody who possesses a talent in photography has done very well for themselves (as they have at least one more talent than me).


But quite simply, don’t point your camera at me, don’t complain if I duck, move or obstruct the line of fire with something, and don’t be offended by the inevitability of me telling you to ‘go away’ (or maybe in a more abrupt and rude manor, possibly accompanied with a simple gesture and a smile).


Next instalment on trains to follow (by which I do not mean walking/running behind a train).


Sweet dreams.

Admin

Before I continue my series of things I hate, there are a few things I need to address.


Item a: I would like to inform whoever reads this, that my background is supposed to be ironic, this was not picked up by one reader.


Item b: My aim is not to offend anyone, simply to vocalise my disliking of different things. If you don't like what you're reading, don't read it.


To continue this brief stint of information, here is a list, for anyone who cares, of all of my future articles. They are not in order of hatred, just the order I thought of them in. The first two have already been covered.


1. Dancing
2. Adrian Chiles
3. Photography
4. Trains
5. Owen Johnston
6. Lemons
7. Glasses
8. 'Pop music'
9. iPhones
10. Sports wear
11. Make-up
12. Wine
13. Queen
14. Maths
15. Alarm clocks
16. The Gym
17. Rodents
18. Xbox live
19. Superstition
20. Twitter
21. Aging
22. Inconsideration
23. Rules
24. Facial hair
25. Technology


I know that some of you will disagree with some of my choices, but thankfully this is not North Korea and i am allowed my own opinion.


Sweet dreams.

#2. Adrian Chiles

Hopefully you are starting to understand the premise of this blog. If not, here is another outline. I get annoyed easily and many, many things frustrate me. Writing this blog is more an act of therapy for me, than it is interesting reading for you. However, you are reading now, so what the hell! Read on!

As the title suggests, my second instalment will be discussing the cons and cons of Adrian Chiles. Now before anybody tells me I’m being harsh, I will hold my hands up and say that he has done a superb job in getting on to the telly, especially considering he has no form of talent to speak of. The Director of Television at ITV, Peter Fincham, said recently-

    “Adrian is a brilliant presenter, journalist and a football fanatic – I’m very much looking forward to working with him again when he joins ITV. He has the rare talent of being able to make television presenting look effortless. He will be at home at ITV whether it is on our flagship breakfast programme or in the football studio.”

……

He has a rare talent of making television presenting look effortless. I think its more a case that he isn’t putting any effort in.

Now, his new home ITV, don’t get me started on them. It’s a good job that ITV is not funded by the government, like the BBC, as I am sure with the new budget, they would be the first to go. Chiles steps into the job previously held by Des Lynam. Well that’s a kick in the face for old Des, isn’t it! ITV’s football coverage has always been crap, with the likes of Andy Townsend and Robbie Earle adding very little to rival Hanson and Lawrenson. Then there are the adverts. Every five minutes they cut to an ad break to avoid highlighting that none of them have any idea of what they should say.

Has anybody else noticed how every program he presented has drastically improved now that Adrian has left the BBC? Colin Murray who is actually likeable with his funny glasses and accent, brings some passion back to the program as Lee Dixon inevitably saps it out; Jason Manford and Chris Evans on the One Show, who have both made me like the program. Before I wouldn’t be seen dead watching it, but now I watch every night; and finally, and in my mind most significantly, The Apprentice: You’re Fired, now presented by Dara O’Briain, one of the best comedians around. For these changes I would like to thank Adrian, without whom, this would never have been possible.

I’m sorry if you were expecting more from this blog, (detail, explanation, analysis etc) but as the old saying goes: ‘a picture paints a thousand words’, so here we are. Is this the face of a talented TV presenter?

No. It's the face of a troll.

Sweet dreams.

#1. Dancing.

I will start off this, my first blog, with some information about myself. I am tall, I cannot grow a beard, I like nothing better than my own company and loud music, I sleep a lot, I like to play scrabble, my favourite food is cheese and I have no particularly notable talents. However from this list there is one significant omission. Lots of things annoy me.


As you may be able to guess the very first topic for my blog is dancing. I'm not saying that I don't appreciate dance as a medium, nor do I dislike those who have a real ability in it. I was as impressed as anybody by the magnificence of Diversity in that recent nation-wide talent contest (yet another concept i despise, but I will speak of that another time). No, what i despise about dancing is that where ever i go, whatever I am doing, someone is trying to persuade me that all I should want to do is 'have a good old boogie'.


Those of you who know me well will know that I do not enjoy the experience of a night club. So picture if you will, the following scenario of the average night out. First of all the pre-drinks. I hate this phrase. If I have a drink before going into town, it is not a drink before the night has started, this is the part of the entire evening's experience that I enjoy the most. Anyway, pre-drinks have happened, then comes the journey into town. If we were to walk it would take 5 minutes, however there are women in the party who have already lost feeling in their legs due to the 'pre-drinks' and all the other 'men' in the group want to use this alcoholic soiree as a way in to a meaningless sexual embargo with these legless women. So first a member of the group elects themselves to count around the room to gain an accurate idea of how many taxis we will need to get us all in to town. However this always ends up in a shouting match between the more boisterous members as this person is unable to count and be polite at the same time.


We jump forwards, past the taxi journey which takes twice the time as it would if we had been walking, the argument between a drunk lady with taxi driver for not turning the radio up and the stopping at a nearby garage so that the cigarette junkies can take stock so that they look even more of a wreck than usual. So now we are in town. The first place we visit is your run of the mill bar, with an obnoxious bouncer checking your I.D. despite the fact you are clearly not 17 years old. You get in and immediately can't move due to unbelievable amount of people crammed into this small space (alarm bells ringing, as if a freak fire starts everyone will surely die). Before you know where you are you lose your friends who rush to the bar to continue their steady rise into inebriation, so are left more alone than you feel comfortable with. To set the scene a little better it is worth saying that at present the music in this bar is too loud to have a decent conversation, though no one is in a right state to hear what you said even if it were quieter. The queue for the bar takes a good half hour, only to receive a watered down version of the drink you ordered anyway. In any case, you are sipping away leisurely, when a more sober member of the party informs you that you are leaving in a minute.


After a walk half way across town you arrive at night club, where there is a queue longer than the building itself, the people in front of you saying they have already been there for an hour. With this you suggest that you go somewhere else, but are met with scowls, as this is everyone’s ‘favourite place in town’. After queuing for what seems like an age you finally get in, past yet another bouncer who left his personality in his other coat. You go to the bar, now empty of all alcohol due to the waiting in gale force weather to get in and all you can hear is the same generic song as everybody is releasing at the moment. On the dance floor you see all of your female friends acting like whores and all of your male friends trying to pick them off like a rhino hunter in Tanzania. You are left to sit at the sides and wait for people to get bored of dancing and talk to you, but by then they are so drunk that they use a vocabulary consisting of fewer words than a Fisher Price Play-Centre.


The above scenario had this blueprint for the majority of my time at university, and it is why I very rarely went out. The fact is I enjoy my friends company by talking to them and responding to them, but this isn’t possible because of one thing. Dancing. If dancing was taken out of these nights there would be banter and fun times, as it is, it is dull. If I like a song I like to sit down and tap my foot to it, not pretend I’m a backing dancer on the songs video, or try to gain the sexual favours of a drunk woman, by moving in a way that a man should never do.


Sorry for the rant, but it is something you will be reading a lot more on my blog. Sweet dreams.