There are days when the wonderful travelling public make
you wonder how in God's name the human race has survived this long. Frankly on
the performances I see so often I think we have until the end of the decade
until the cats take over - this might be shorter if Trump ends up as president.
However the three separate instances of stupidity I am
about to relate took place on just one trip from Salisbury to Waterloo and back
to Salisbury.
The first one started as I pulled in to Andover when I
saw two Asian (am I allowed to say that?) men staggering around the platform.
Knowing full well that alcohol, humans and railways don't make a good combo I
slowed down when one of them walked right to the edge of the platform to crane
his neck out to look at the train. I blew the horn uttered some swear words
from the Train Drivers Handbook and thanked every deity real or imagined that
at least one part of his brain had not been pickled with booze and he got the
hell out of the way.
These were not the first piss artist we'd let on the
train as one had got on at the station before with a dog. My guard pointed this
out to me as said person got out and my comment was 'I really hope no harm
comes to the dog.'
We got to Waterloo without any further incident. I got
out of the cab and walked to the other end of the train only to find my guard
now trying to rouse these two drunks. I decided to help as my guard was a young
woman and I didn't want to see any harm come to her. I walked into the coach
and asked her whether she wanted me to help, she did - I shook the first one
with a genial 'Excuse me sir we've reached the end of the line, you need to get
off.' He stirred grunted a few words, shook his fellow sot and prepared to get
up. Job done or so I thought and I went down the other end.
After sorting the cab out the other end I decided to
spend a penny (yes I am not afraid to use the toilets on a train - it's either
that or go in bottle or cup). I walked back only to find this pair of
ambassadors for the effects of Tiger Beer sparko again. So I wake the first one
again, he comes to again. I think he wants to know where he is - as it
transpires that he does not speak a word of English, my knowledge of dialects
of the Sub-Continent are limited to the contents of a Balti House menu and I
think that shouting Gobi Aloo repeatedly is going to do much for the
Commonwealth! We both are at a loss, then he mutters 'End of line?' He must
understand English to some degree - he must have ordered at least one round of
drinks to get him like this?
OK I'll go for that old tried and tested method of
communicating with foreigners that we the British have made famous the world
over - SHOUT!!! 'YES! END OF LINE - YOU (pointing) OFF!!!!!! It worked, he grabs his hoppo and they
stumble the hell off my train out to cause more mayhem on the concourse at
Waterloo (like it needs any more help in that area.)
So now we trot off back to Salisbury where the train
terminates. I do the decent think and walk through the train to help the
platform staff. I walk into the carriage to find a pair of legs draped across
the aisle. Here we go again - there he is slumped across the seat dead to the
world. I go through the usual routine only to get the blank stare of a junkie -
'You need to get off mate' He shuts his eyes. 'Oi!!! Thicky McThickface! Get
off this train!' Not a glimmer! 'Oh sod, you!' I go an tell our platform
attendant about this (a true gentle giant if ever there was one). He was then
persuading another sot that he needed to get off.
In the end these pillocks were got off the train and
pointed to the taxi-rank as they had missed their stations, namely Basingstoke
and Woking - oh how I laughed as this was the last train!!!!!
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