I Hate Football

Absolutely shattered.  Carrying strep throat, cough and conjunctivitis. Can barely see out of eyes.  Leave work at 6 pm and head to Waitrose Gloucester Road as have nothing to eat in house except frozen chops.  Finish up at 7.00ish and head back to Gloucester Road tube station to await train to Wimbledon.

Gloucester Road station heading west looking like rugby scrum.  Actually football scrum, as due to brilliant planning by Chelsea Football club, big match taking place during rush hour.  Thus blue and white scarved hordes packing out trains to Fulham Broadway.  Tragically, due to a signalling problem or some such, there are very few trains heading west, so sit down in dudgeon to eat entire bar of over-priced designer chocolate and read the Evening Standard.  Several times.  When Wimbledon train finally arrives, packed to gills with blue and white scarved hordes, so await another.  Forty-five minutes later, now very angry indeed, manage to shoe-horn myself on amidst stripy scarved hordes and obtain comfy billet for self and three bags of shopping by jamming face into corner by door.  Now determined no one else will be getting on – very selfish to add to jam.  Hate Transport for London.  Hate life.  Why am I not living in countryside? 

Blue and white scarved hordes, recipient of death ray stares from self, ooze off like molasses at Fulham Broadway.  Huzzah!  Pleasure diminishes immediately when young madam in fake Persian lamb jacket shoots by like Olympic sprinter to empty seat near me.  Hey, no prob, please do allow me to continue standing with my three bags of shopping.  Won’t sit down out of principal now even if more seats become available.

Resolve crumbles at next stop.  Sink exhausted into seat and fall asleep immediately.  Unconsciousness lasts for two stops, when blasted awake by scraggy-haired fat busker in leather jacket and jeans, bellowing out ‘Wonderwall’ whilst pounding on guitar like machine gunner at Khe San.  Death ray stare resumed to no effect.  Have given money to this bloke on previous occasion, now hope he starves to death.

Finally arrive home a mere two and half hours after setting off.

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