Wednesday, 29 April 2009


My new (acting) job title is WBM. I'm not very good at acting, but that's a bit beside the point. I attended a meeting of all WBMs in West Brom today. WBMs at WBA, you might say. And it was a dreadful journey, getting there and back again, though the bit in the middle wasn't anywhere near as bad as I thought it was going to be. In fact, the sandwiches were also all right. I do have to say that the bit I saw of West Brom was, er, not very interesting. Funnily enough, I am rooting for the Baggies to stay up, at the expense of Boro, Blackburn and Bolton. But that ain't gonna happen.

I boarded an early train from Euston in preference to staying overnight yesterday, but it instantly felt wrong. There was a sepulchral air in the carriage, and there were so many reserved places that I was forced to plonk down on one of those side-by-side seats next to a Japanese businessman who was fiddling with his ThinkBook. I felt immediately cramped and uptight. To my rear was another Japanese businessman - afforded the luxury of a table and furiously whacking away at an Excel spreadsheet. In front of me was a youngish woman reading one of those paperbacks about shopping while shoving a creamy baguette into her gob. Nobody loved me and I yearned for the good old SEO days of spacious seats, free breakfasts and carefree living. Those times are long gone, I have to accept that, but it doesn't make it any easier to come to terms with the fact that my all-too brief time in the sun is drawing to an end.

Coming home was even worse. Not only was the damned thing packed, with the usual catch-in-the-back-of-the-throat stench from the toilets in the vestibule (good word, I have to say) and some work obsessed drone sitting next to me, but also the elaborate manoeuvers I carried out to end up on the train on my own for a sneaky g&t came to nought because there was no fucking bar on board!

Holy shite, and they give that twat Branson a frigging knighthood? Get to fuck.

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