Drunk People On Trains
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Drunk people on trains is nothing new, although I have to say that I avoid Virgin trains like the plague since finding myself coming out of Manchester on a three hour journey packed with intensely pissed football fans. It was lairy and scary without a guard in sight should things get a little ugly. Thankfully I had a vegetable knife secreted in my handbag just in case. Recently, I have found myself consumed by the irresistible urge to sneak photographs of drunk people on trains. I also like to take pictures of people eating things on trains, especially when they try to do it all serrupticiously.


This man was on the rather gentler London Midland line. Clearly off his face, he lost consciousness somewhere around Watford, spent some time snoring loudly, then seemed to go into some kind of bizarre dream state, like a dog chasing rabbits while lying on the carpet. Slumped in his coma, he was talking to himself and shouting random answers. Or rather, he was trying to answer the automatic voice that came over the tannoy at each station, yelling all sorts of nonsense in reponse to Mind The Gap.

The train terminated at Northampton, and as everyone got off, he just lay there twitching a bit with his mouth hanging open. It was the last train of the night, so if Northampton wasn't his intended station, then he was a bit fucked really. I wouldn't like to have been him when the hangover kicked in.


The train home yesterday was packed, and I found myself sitting across the aisle from a man who had one of those dangly wires coming out of his ear. He also had a list in front of him, and began making very loud phone calls, starting at the top. Oblivious to the evil death stares everyone was throwing  him, I decided to take matters into my own hands. 'Excuse me,' I said. 'I didn't realise I'd bought a ticket to sit in YOUR OFFICE.' (The woman in front of me hid her sniggering face behind her book.) You know what the man said to me? He said, 'Sorry. I had an operation yesterday.' [WTF?!] 'I've got a two week sick note and I'm not even supposed to be working today but there are people relying on me.' (like he's the bloody president or something.) So I asked him what would happen if he got hit by a bus, and whether their worlds would stop turning, before suggesting he might try staying at home for a while as the anaesthetic had obviously affected his brain. He said that that would mean sitting at home watching telly and that he'd be bored. 'There are other things you can do except watch telly,' I said. 'Not in my house,' he replied. Well. There we have it. We all now know that the man with the shoulder sling from Hemel Hempstead has NO LIFE.


I don't know how anyone can have the gall to get on a train with a bagful of stinking fodder to trough. Can't they eat something before travelling? Or wait until they get home like a NORMAL person? Do they have any idea what's actually in that dog-breath pastie that will waft throughout the carriage like an illegal immigrant who's been locked in the back of the lorry for a month? Jesus. What is the matter with these people?

As you can see, the bald bloke here is having some trouble staying upright.


In all fairness, this bloke didn't appear to be particularly intoxicated, but it did seem like a strange picnic given that it was four o'clock in the afternoon. He didn't do the hide-it-in-the-bag-while-eating-it thing either. Oh no. The pastie was wielded with Braveheart pride and he ate it like a man. Not the kind of man I would want to be travelling with, but there you go. Like all pasties, that thing stank like the gut-rotting fat-fuelled lump of crud that it was. Why would you choose to eat something like that (unless you're seriously drunk)? Trust me. I know somebody who used to work in a pie factory. And it's not good.

Incidentally, The Husband has admitted to eating pasties on trains too. Me and the kids interrogated him until he broke down and confessed.


Ah yes, a classic example of the starving woman who's legged it for the train and can't wait to tuck in to her scran. She probably skipped lunch. It's just gone five o'clock and all she can think about is the food she's got stuffed in her oversized handbag. Train pulls out. People are concentrating on their phones and newspapers. She goes in for the kill.

Moving very slowly, trying not to make any noise with the bag (yeah right), she is sure not to make eye contact with anybody. She's going to eat her prawn sandwich and bag of roast chicken crisps, and there's NOTHING you can do to stop her. You will NOT acknowledge that she is eating something, and nor will she. Then it doesn't count and has no calories.

This hard-working woman is forgiven because her train scran did not stink like the preferred snacks of the men above.


On the Nottingham line coming up from St Pancreas, this woman spoke very loudly on her phone to make sure everybody heard how much she hates Sally Keeble, Labour MP for Northampton North. She also  plans to run for election, although with a body like that, I doubt she could run for anything much. Her bag was full of food, which was sheer coincidence, because she only looks like an elephant because of a thyroid problem I expect.

Do feel free to send in your own pictures of drunk people in public places. If you have not yet discovered the joys of photographing unsuspecting members of the public, I suggest you give it a try and discover a whole new hobby leading to hours of fun. Daughter No.2 likes to take photographs of women wearing horrible shoes. She then laughs at them and sighs sympathetically before walking away. She also shouts "Vegetarian" at people riding bicycles.