Blog About Sam's Thoughts And Riting Diary

Travelling by train should be a peaceful, enjoyable and smooth experience in which one arrives at their local station, boards a train, finds a seat, reads a book, arrives at their destination, alights from the train, and goes about their daily business. However, t ravelling with Southeastern is like tying a shoelace wearing oven gloves; it’s possible but unnecessarily hard. Today  I decided to get the 1053 as I had a meeting in Greenwich at midday. The 1053 gets in to Greenwich at 1132 should the stars align, and those pesky wet leaves keep off the rails.   I left home at 1035, walked a kilometre to get there and arrived a few minutes before the train was due to arrive. I had upheld my end of the bargain. Before I could even ask for an Off-Peak return to Greenwich, the cashier told me not to get a train as the next one wouldn’t arrive for at least an hour. Pardon?  Yep, I’d be better off getting a bus (a what?)  to Dartford and getting a train from there. So off I we

Telephone conversations on trains should be punishable by death. I have been told I can be melodramatic at times. Can ’t see it myself. Okay, I suppose some conversations are acceptable provided they fulfil the following criteria:   Speak quietly. If I can hear you while I’m listening to music, you’re too loud.   Shorter than two minutes. Why do you need to talk to anyone for longer than that? Talk to them in your own home you bloody fiend.   The call is necessary. Telling your mate Dave you had a lovely pint today and that it was your first in twenty-four days isn’t relevant (I actually heard somebody tell Dave this. Fuming). Even if it is relevant it can wait. Read a book, write a passive aggressive future blog post, listen to some music or partake in the most considerate of pastimes: sleep. The people that sleep on trains are my favourite - I’ve yet to come across a snorer - watch them drool, catch flies and wake up in a panic. Gold. I saw a guy roll a spliff