London Minge

This time last week, dear reader, I took the train from Bournemouth to London Waterloo.

An interesting journey, it was, no mistake.

Although my seat had long since been reserved, carriage G no less, the train pulled into Bournemouth station and was only four carriages long. How the hell could there be a carriage G? Or had there been an alphabetical revolution whilst I was away in Japan? Indeed, no. No revolution. No carriage G. Of course, all my other fellow travellers realised as I did that the whole train was unreserved and a mad charge was made at the train as soon as it came to a complete stop. There were far more seats than travellers, though, thank goodness. Phew. I took a fabulous seat around a table and had it all to myself. I sat next to the window, facing forward, and placed my wee man-bag, choc full of gubbins, including my pyjamas, a clean change of clothes and toiletries.

Not long into the journey, perhaps at Brockenhurst, Southampton Central or Southampton Parkway, a man and his wife got onto the train.

Jesus H Christ.

He clearly wanted to come and sit next to me, hovering around the seat occupied only by my bag, as it was, his wife having sat on the seat next to it, on the next aisle. I was listening to Hooked on radiation by Atomizer, turned the volume down on my iPod and waited for the guy to ask me to move my bag.

What?

He didn't ask me to move my bag, dear reader. No. He simply picked it up and gave it to me. Taken by surprise, I actually apologised. Unbelievable, I know.

Why didn't he and his slutty wife want to sit together? There were plenty of double seats together, even the two opposite me. They constantly chatted and laughed (loudly) then began exchanging foods. Crumbs that were scattered all about his person, with a flick of his wrist, simply ended up all over me.

"You've no social skills, have you!" I muttered.

Fear not though, dear reader, Minge always knows how to get his own back... After the vile wee man belched for a third time without excusing himself, I simply leaned to one side, pointed my bottom in his direction and farted rather loudly. It stank. I said, "That's better."

Not a word did he utter nor a move did he make from that moment on until I pushed him out of my way in order to alight the train at its final destination.

I hope he'll remember me and speak of me, hopefully at dinner parties where social climbers exchange anecdotes.

Next stop, Chislehurst. But first I had to find Waterloo East station. Not a problem. A doddle, in fact. I know what you're thinking, dear reader, that it can't have been that easy. Well, no, it wasn't. On arriving at the station, I asked a girl, ahem, at the information point, which train one should take to Chiselhurst.

"Dunno," she said, looking at her colleague.

Very helpful.

The colleague asked me where I wanted to go. I told him. His reply:

"Platform C."

"But which train do I take? What's its final destination?"

"C."

"No, I know the platform, which actual train do I take?"

"C."

I walked away.

Luckily, on arrival, an announcement was made advising passengers where the trains stopped.

I got the train to Chiselhurst and Gabby met me on the platform. It was fabulous to see the tarty whore again. We're like a couple of old women when we get together and do nothing but chat - only about all things fabulous, of course.

A short bus journey and a few footstepts later, we found ourselves in a very posh part of Bromley. Janette must live here. And she did.

I met her wee boy, Kyle, for the first time. What a dear wee man. Very friendly and what a gorgeous smile. He's going to break a few hearts in the years to come!

From Janette's house, we took a trip into town, did some shopping, had some lunch, saw a brawl, returned home and talked constantly. With only the ordering of a Chinese and Indian take-away to interrupt us, we talked non-stop until four in the morning.

And you thought I was too old for this, dear reader?

We rolled into bed, looked at some photographs of Janette's and Gabby's men (past and present), then went to sleep. Janette slept on the floor, Gabby and I sharing Janette's bed. I've never slept with a lady before! Thankfully, Gab didn't fart, belch, snore nor talk in her sleep and I slept like a baby.



The next morning, I tried on Gabby's spectacles. She took my picture.



Then Janette, Kyle and I posed for the camera.



And finally, La Evans and Minge.



From Bromley, Minge went to North London to visit wee Robin!

I was a bit late, trains being what they are and my state of mind being what it is, but got there in the end. I love Robin to death and we had a few hours to chat, drink tea and eat carrot cake.

Poor Robin, though. He's hurt his bottom and lower back. That's old age for you, hen!



En route to London Waterloo, utilizing my travel card, I took a wee look around Piccadilly Circus and Trafalgar Square before heading off for my train.

So worried was I that I'd be late, I arrived at the station more than a full hour before my train we was to depart. I asked if I could take the earlier train, but due to the restrictions on my cheap ticket, I had to sit and wait.

Nae bother, hen. An hour for Minge is soon filled with fabulousness, this time, a walk along the South Bank eating custard doughnuts and drinking coffee.

Heaven.

My train journey to Bournemouth was a non-event. However, arriving quite late, I was keen to get to my bed. Mum was pleased to see me (after her rant - click here) as were mes chiennes.

Oh, I almost forgot, on our way into London, Gabby and I saw Little Miss Jocelyn! Fabulous! Check my lyrics!

And another thing:

I'm overjoyed to find that Pet Shop Boys are going to play Edinburgh for Hogmanay! Tickets go on sale this coming Saturday. I'm going. Are you?

Tickets can be bought from The Hub in the city (The Hub, Castlehill, Edinburgh, EH1 2NE), by telephone on +44 (0)131 473 2000 or online.

In honour of this and the fact that I've been waffling on about London, take a look, dear reader, at the video for London by Pet Shop Boys. Go on, you know you want to.