A few days ago I told you about hell and about how it was being drunk in a hotel room. This was wrong. Hell is missing the last tube by a minute because the connecting train was ten minutes late, then walking for half an hour to the bus stop for a night bus, waiting half an hour, getting on the bus, falling asleep and waking up at 3am in Zone 6 , in an area you know absolutely nothing about (Oh, the joys of Chingford Mount!).
The 118 118 service I called gave me a mini-cab number but it was dead! And after all of those bleeding adverts for 118 numbers last year, I could only remember that one.
Of course, by the time I got home it was 3.45am. “But that’s OK it’s the weekend”, I hear you say. Well that would be fine but I had to get up at 9am and transfer across London to move my stuff into a new home. Still it's all over now and I have moved into a new place. So I guess from now on I have no excuse to not know the direction home. Just have to stay clear of too much sauce.
Like a Rolling Stone
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2 comments:
this really cracked me up... sorry to laugh at your bad luck stories but this was too fun a reading
write a book man write a book
CHINGFORD MOUNT RULES!!!!!
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