Rain, trains and yips
Feb. 5th, 2004 02:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootEnd, oh fourth day of February, let me sleep and forget you, for you have been a strange pig of a bastard. I am about to indulge in a very selfish rant now. I recognise that others have had a far more serious and distressing time of this weather than I have. But on my LJ, I reserve the right to be tired, self centred and absurdly petulant.
Let's talk about trying to get to my bellydancing class, let's talk about sitting on the train, until the glass door three feet from me explodes from the impact of a high velocity missile, hopefully a vandal's testicle. Glass shatters in dramatic matrix stylee, train driver stops everything and fusses over us with such sincere concern I find myself checking my bag to see if my wallet's still there. The train lurches into Manchester Victoria, where we wait. Get on another train to get to Salford Crescent. Wait for a full hour to get a train from Salford Crescent to Heald Green, because the trains are totally buggered due to freak weather conditions.
No. No. No, no,no, come on, we've had this before, we know what to expect. England. North. Early February. How can they call torrential downpour/flood possibility freak weather conditions? Don't they live here? The country spent millions on flood prevention, only for punters like me to learn today that 'This rain's not going away!' Special rain is it? Where does rain normally go? The Matto Grosso? The Moons of Mars? A bar in Boston where everybody knows its name? Maybe, as we are North, we're at the top of England and the water just trickles downwards until it reaches the bucket of civilisation known as Portsmouth. Maybe this is what destroyed Atlantis. If we had tipped the island ever so slightly to the left, we might have lost East Anglia instead.
I am happy to have solved this mystery, at no extra charge to English Heritage. In return, I would like a public transport service that isn't run by mutant psycho-carnies, doesn't fall apart at the first sign of weather and gets me to my fucking belly dancing lesson in less time than it would take to fly to France.
I got to the lesson for the last half hour, flustered but relieved. Little did I know the worst was yet to come. They started practising the Zaggareet routine previously described on here. No-one knew the steps, but they had all been practising their ululations with gusto, and as for their yips...I always thought 'Yip' meant any generic high pitched yelp, but no. it is a word, and you say it over and over again: yip! yip! yip! yip!
Feeling excited yet?
There is more, much more, but the yips have broken me. I must end it now. Goodnight LJ
Let's talk about trying to get to my bellydancing class, let's talk about sitting on the train, until the glass door three feet from me explodes from the impact of a high velocity missile, hopefully a vandal's testicle. Glass shatters in dramatic matrix stylee, train driver stops everything and fusses over us with such sincere concern I find myself checking my bag to see if my wallet's still there. The train lurches into Manchester Victoria, where we wait. Get on another train to get to Salford Crescent. Wait for a full hour to get a train from Salford Crescent to Heald Green, because the trains are totally buggered due to freak weather conditions.
No. No. No, no,no, come on, we've had this before, we know what to expect. England. North. Early February. How can they call torrential downpour/flood possibility freak weather conditions? Don't they live here? The country spent millions on flood prevention, only for punters like me to learn today that 'This rain's not going away!' Special rain is it? Where does rain normally go? The Matto Grosso? The Moons of Mars? A bar in Boston where everybody knows its name? Maybe, as we are North, we're at the top of England and the water just trickles downwards until it reaches the bucket of civilisation known as Portsmouth. Maybe this is what destroyed Atlantis. If we had tipped the island ever so slightly to the left, we might have lost East Anglia instead.
I am happy to have solved this mystery, at no extra charge to English Heritage. In return, I would like a public transport service that isn't run by mutant psycho-carnies, doesn't fall apart at the first sign of weather and gets me to my fucking belly dancing lesson in less time than it would take to fly to France.
I got to the lesson for the last half hour, flustered but relieved. Little did I know the worst was yet to come. They started practising the Zaggareet routine previously described on here. No-one knew the steps, but they had all been practising their ululations with gusto, and as for their yips...I always thought 'Yip' meant any generic high pitched yelp, but no. it is a word, and you say it over and over again: yip! yip! yip! yip!
Feeling excited yet?
There is more, much more, but the yips have broken me. I must end it now. Goodnight LJ
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Re: Sympathy
Date: 2004-02-05 02:28 am (UTC)(kiss kiss kiss)