Just got on the train at King's Cross, going to Doncaster, and the fattest bloke you could imagine is in the seat next to me.
Not only is his right thigh oozing onto my seat, I cannot put the central armrest down as his arms are too flabby to fit in his own space.
I did think, as I walked toward the train before I boarded, that the fucking thing was listing.
I hope we don't have too many left hand bends to go round.
Not only that, but he hasn't stopped talking on his phone yet.
And, for fucks sake, he is going to Doncaster.
Not surprisingly, he is looking at South American Steakhouse (La Vaca, currently) on his laptop.
I bet they fucking dread it when they see his considerable bulk lumbering along the pavement toward them.
I can just imagine the panic, trying to turn all the signs to 'Closed' before he enters and eats them bastard dry.
The bloke across the aisle had his music on so loud you could probably hear it whilst reading this if it hadn't been for the ticket inspector woman telling him to turn it down.
He's too old for "My Sex is on Fire" anyhoo.
And now my tablet won't play videos.
Could train travel get any bastard worse?
At least the woman opposite has just finished her sudoko.
Nothing for it, I'll have to put some King Kurt on.............
Sent from my BlackBerry 10 smartphone.