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Saga of a woman old enough to know better who lets her life be governed by the ridiculous hobby of breeding and showing dogs, musing on life, the twenty first century, Cameron and his mini-me, and the occasional sheep.
"IN DOG YEARS, I`M DEAD"

Thursday, February 24, 2005

WILLING BITCHES AND SLOW VIRGINS 

Despite continued trouble with my Achilles Wooden Leg, I had no alternative this week but trail down to Leicester in the blizzards with Fenella. Doggy sex is not negotiable– when they gotta go, they gotta go, and Fenella was quite obviously hot to trot – and unfortunately her chosen (that`s by me, not by her!) .husband was well south of here.

That`s why I was hauling myself aboard the GNER 8.14, with an interesting cough and the general appearance of someone who had mistaken the date of Red Nose Day, dragging an unhappy Fenella – she had very reasonably supposed she was signing on for nookie, not sightseeing across England.

It was a fine quiet ride to Peterborough, watching the snowy countryside roll by with a cup of tea or so from the frequent trolley………and then the connection with Central failed and I arrived in Leicester with only 20 minutes to hand over the bride and get to Derby to catch the stopping Virgin north……..

Generally speaking, I like trains. I remember getting very sentimental over the last of the Gresley Pacific A4s, which ran on the Aberdeen-Glasgow line, and have been known to visit the Railway Museum in York. I`ve travelled all over Europe by train, I`ve been on the Orient Express (the old one), and always regret never having tried the Trans-Siberian.

And then there`s Virgin..

I suppose it`s a bit like being a chocaholic and finding one bar that makes you throw up. Or a really bad cover version of your favourite song.

No-one in the far future`s ever going to get sentimental over Virgin.

Mind you, it wasn`t my worst Virgin adventure. Probably that`s the one coming up from the south coast on a train with no water or food at all – they kept promising it at every stop, and eventually the catering staff had to lock themselves into the empty food shop for protection from the passengers. Or the time when the onboard computer crashed, taking all the seat reservations, (and, inexplicably, the electronic toilet door locks) with it……….there are probably still little old ladies locked in on that one.

Virgin rolling stock always gives the impression that Professor Branestawm or Ming the Merciless was on the design team. The latest Virgin is the Pendolino. (Obviously Pendolino is really a Commedia dell`Arte stock character with permanent brewer`s droop….).

`The carriages are very quiet. This is partly because they seem to have been designed as Faraday cages . No mobile signal. No personal radio. As usual, no food. No seat till I got to Sheffield. Meanwhile the iPod crashed and I finished The Economist……even the obituaries.

I sat in silence and contemplated the hardness of the seat and the futility of life. The intercom beeped.: “If there is a doctor on the train, would he come immediately to coach G”.

We chugged on into the night. The heating seemed to have failed. I would have killed for a cup of tea. The intercom beeped.

“If there is a nurse on the train, would she come immediately to coach G”

I dozed a bit. I woke with a start

“If anyone on the train knows any first aid at all, would they come immediately to coach G”

After that, silence.

I expect that Virgin, out of necessity, has developed efficient methods of disposing of the odd dead body...
Comments:
Only you could make such a horrible trip so hilariously funny!See you Sunday I hope.No prize for guessing my identity! Heaps of love from a begritten, cheesed off, dont want to be a parent anymore, had it with husband, hate Tesco, Oh! God! the grandchildren arrive for a sleepover soon, lost the will to live,Friend!x
 
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