Hell is other people - grumpy old women part 3

Hell is other people… on trains

I think I should be worried but I am finding it very easy to write my grumpy old women posts. And here is another.

Trains would be great without the people – I was up again on Friday at 5.45am to get the 7am train to Cork again and the next time I will definitely have to get to bed early, it ends up such a long and tiring day and bed time at 1.30am does not work.

As it was bank holiday weekend and although Jazz Festival goers would probably not be catching the 7am train in order to get to the venues early I thought it made sense to book my ticket online. That system is a joke.

No one pays any attention to it as far as I can see unless the train is packed to the gills and the people in the yellow coats who assist people on the train guide you to correct carriage it is impossible (or feels like it ) to comprehend.

But I managed somehow on Friday morning to find my seat and sat back to enjoy the sun coming up, camera ready just in case there was something that caught my eye, and off I travelled.

When the buffet car opened I thought breakfast in order and left my coat and a bag with non-valuables on my seat (I had a four seat bit to myself).

After breakfast I returned to my seat, only it wasn’t my seat anymore there was someone sitting at my seat and someone else opposite him.

‘Can I get my seat?’ I said.
He said yeah and didn’t move. Defeated I sat down in the seat beside him though I was seething inside.

I like the window seat so if see something I can try to capture it. I previously missed an amazing shot going by the Curragh. There was a beautiful morning mist with all sorts of muted browns and greens and as I sat down from having taking pics out the windows between the carriages I saw four people on horseback disappearing into the mist. I didn’t catch it before the train whizzed by.

So on Friday morning I just wasn’t happy at all.

I put on my ipod, took out my notebook and started writing. Then the fella proceeded to try and read what I was writing.

Another thing that bugs me about travelling on the train is when people are walking by and nearly take your shoulder and continue on by without so much as a glance over their shoulder.
I know this happens, you are on a moving train, but come on when did sorry be dropped from everyday use.

Once in Cork I went to a colleague’s house where his massive, friendly and frisky Labrador wanted to play fisty-cuffs with me and somehow managed to open the top button of my blouse.

Normally I’d wear a vest top underneath because when I bend over I can reveal more of Tipperary than I’d like due to the top button being lower than I’d like.

When I went to bed last night the black vest I thought was sitting on the dresser actually turned out to be something else entirely at 5.45am. I thought frig it, put on a cardigan – a move I would later regret.

Particularly seeing as how my colleague’s dog completely exposed me and I spent a frantic two minutes (it was surely longer) trying not to draw attention to my exposure by discreetly buttoning up my blouse.

The dog, it was a he, was having none of it and keep punching me with his paws starting off a series of at least three exposures.

At one stage I nearly greeted my boss in a very novel way when I say nearly there is a very large chance that he was greeted in more ways than one, two actually and he was too polite to pay notice. I am hoping of course that is not the case.

Somehow to my relief, the buttons started behaving themselves at lunchtime, thank God. The only flashing I wanted to do was with my camera.

On the way home on the 7.30pm train I tried to catch 40 winks. I slooped down in the chair with my coat over me and managed to snooze, until a fella banged into my legs so he could sit down. Cheers for that again excuse me has been dropped without my knowledge.

He sat opposite me so I could no longer stretch out, I think he had an aversion to sitting at the window. I didn’t sit at the window cos it was dark and there was nothing to see.

Even if I was able to snooze again I couldn’t because he started to tunelessly hum, whistle, and make other noises as he did a su-doku puzzle.

Seeing as how I couldn’t sleep I thought I would get a glass of wine from the bar, only they had sold out and I didn’t fancy anything else.

It was all a conspiracy I tell you, all because I insist that Belfast is the second city not Cork, cos it is not. *Preparing for a deluge of annoyed Cork bloggers he he*

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