Istanbul to Bucharest - The Train-Journey from Hell.
I'm a keen InterRailer and have travelled on the trains of nearly every European country and can honestly say that the UK has worse train-transport than every other European country ... except Bulgaria.

On my first ever InterRail, I decided to make it all the way out to Turkey and then head straight for Romania. Being a novice backpacker back then and travelling all by myself, this may have been too much for me, but I have the habit of taking enormous steps (I do this sort of thing all the time) so I was able to put myself through this.

Before the train even left the station, things were getting off to a bad start. I was accompanied by someone from the hostel who had volunteered to be my personal tour-guide (the only language we had in common was German so I was given a tour of Istanbul in German). Completely out of the blue, he asked me for a fee (5000000 Turkish Lira). This came as a surprise as he had not mentioned it to me before and I had just assumed he wanted to show me the city out of his own keen-ness. On the one hand, I was determined not to be taken advantage of, but on the other hand, part of me felt he should be rewarded for his efforts. Needless to say, a compromise was reached and I paid 3/5ths of what he asked. But the whole exchange drained my Karma somewhat.

I was sharing my compartment with two Romanians. We soon established we had no tongue in common. The compartment on my Turkish coach consisted of six couchettes (places to lie down on) - three to each side. If you're familiar with European night-trains, you'll know that usually above the door, there are the controls for things like the lights. However, instead of the controls, there were just loose wires sticking out. The Romanians seemed to know instinctively which wires to jam together to make the lights turn off and on.

Around 2am, I was woken up by the Turkish border-controls. The Romanians were trying to make gestures that I should get out and walk around. Not being familiar with midnight border-crossings, I just assumed they wanted me to go and find the place to get my passport stamped but in hindsight, I think they were suggesting I get something from the duty-free shop. They certainly did - Vodka, bread and salami. They were kind enough to offer me some. I was slightly worried in case it was laced with tranquilizer (I did say I was a novice backpacker back then), but their hospitality got the better of me.

The next day, I woke up early and looked out the window. We were still at the same place on the Turkish border. Why had we been woken up in the middle of the night only for the sodding train to remain stationary until daytime? Gah! Went back to sleep. Was soon woken up on the Bulgarian side of the border by not only the passport control person insisting that I get a more expensive tourist-visa instead of a transit-visa because I had no visa for Romania, but also by the customs inspector who had a good look through my rucksack. Despite this, I went back to sleep again.

Woke up, looked out the window. This was the first time I had ever been behind the Iron Curtain. Normally, people's first visit behind the Iron Curtain usually just involves visiting Prague for a weekend, but I did it by crossing into Bulgaria from Turkey. Things were just like I expected - crumbling concrete blocks of flats in the middle of fields. Because the train was late, we seemed to spend insane amounts of time stuck in the middle of nowhere not moving anywhere. It seems like Bulgaria's strategy of avoiding train-crashes is to only have one moving train on the entire network at any one time.

The two Romanians then finished off their duty-free vodka and beer. They were getting obnoxiously drunk and throwing empty beer cans out the window (by then, the concrete laden fields had been left behind for some wonderful mountain scenery). They soon got tired of this and passed out on the beds above the opposite seat from where I was sitting.

By then, the ticket inspector came along. It turned out that when I got my InterRail ticket back, the guard had forgotten to give me the supplemental ticket I needed to pay for the train. Again, I had no language in common and the Romanians were too passed out to offer assistance so I had no means of explaining that the guard had my supplement. The Bulgarian ticket inspector insisted I pay for a piece of paper whose purpose evaded me completely. Not wanting to be sent to a Bulgarian prison, I paid for it out of my supply of Deutschmarks which I was hoping to make last until I next crossed the Iron Curtain. Nevertheless, I kept it as a souvenir and carried it in my wallet for several years to come (eventually, I met a Bulgarian who I showed it to and he said it was a fine for not having a ticket, but at the time, I assumed that the guard already had a record of my supplement having been paid for).

After yet more time spent standing still for what seemed forever, we were off again. The Romanians were beginning to stir. The window to our compartment was open (the gap at the top was only about 20cm tall). Completely out of the blue, one of the Romanians puked up through the gap in the window whilst lying down. He got pretty much all of it out but the outside of the window was completely splattered in his puke. Looking back, this seems like an impressive feat of vomit aiming but at the time, I was not in the mood for sick spewing shenanigans. Round two. This time, because of the wind, some of the puke went back in the compartment and a few bits even landed on my legs (was wearing shorts). Fortunately, there was no round 3 but I decided to get cleaned up anyway.

By now, we had reached the Romanian frontier. Even so, we waited for about two hours in the city of Russe for goodness knows what. The passport control people asked me a lot of awkward questions and the customs inspectors had another rummage through my rucksack (this happened a lot on that particular InterRail). It was at this point that I declared my arch-nemesis to be the Bulgarian borer-control staff. Meanwhile, the Romanians were somewhat hung-over. They had run out of drinkable water and for some reason, were reluctant to get out the train to refill their bottles. They were leaning out of the puke-smeared window trying to persuade some reluctant local kids to go and refill their water bottle and even had to resort to offering them cigarettes in exchange.

Eventually we set off across the Danube. The Romanians seemed to be feeling excited about finally returning home. However, at the border-town of Giurgiu, we spent another hour just waiting doing nothing. Once we got going, the Romanians were trying to explain that Romanian taxis were cheaper than western taxis. At the time, I was determined to brave the Bucharest public transport, but by the time we arrived, it was 10pm (some 10 hours late) and the tourist-information places would have shut down. Now, I wasn't even sure if my youth hostel still had places for me. I was approached on the platform by a taxi-driver. By then, I was too tired to care about being adventurous enough to try the trams and the two Romanians were chatting with the taxi-driver so I just went along. The icing on the cake was that I was ripped off by the taxi-driver. The journey cost 10 US dollars (which is a major rip-off by Romanian standards), but I was too tired to care. Fortunately, it was the right place and they had a spare bed for me. Didn't bother getting anything to eat so just went to sleep, but was kept awake by the sound of barking dogs.

While the Romanians were not the best travel companions I could have hoped for, I would have starved and dehydrated had I not been offered their Bread, Salami, Vodka and water.

Apologies for length and waffle.
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Fri 30 May 2008, 14:35, Reply)

Not really traumatic more amusing really
On holiday in San Francisco I caugh a bus across town and being in a weird country in a weird town when I got on the bus I gave a quick glance over the passengers and picked out the weirdies to be wary of.
One chap was twitching slightly and was dressed a little like Arnie in the first terminator film but with more badges not dangerous looking but worthy of a wide berth, so I sat a couple of seats in front of him and settled to enjoy the ride.
A stop or 2 later a woman got on a sat next to him... nothing happened... I mocked myself for being overly suspicious of people... Then he asked her:

"Are you the same age as me?"

Huh? A bizarre and excellent question I thought. She was trapped and so entered his world of the weird and tried to answer his question and dealt with the whole thing excellently eventually established via comparing graduating years that they were close in age but not the same...

I breathed a sigh of relief, she was clearly an expert and had dealt with this slightly odd fellow with kindness, respect and understanding and now the conversation was over... she had escaped unscathed and could enjoy the rest of the journey in peace...
Except that after a minute or so *she* asks him:

"Why d'you ask?"

What??!?!? What are you doing woman? I almost got up and slapped her - don't poke the bear you silly woman! This is a bus you're not supposed to talk to anyone let alone the man whose just shown you he is at very least a little odd and maybe a bit mental!

His response without missing a beat and totally matter of fact:

"Oh I'm a paranoid schizophrenic, I thought maybe the CIA had put you here to keep tabs on me."

Once again I had to restrain myself from entering the conversation - I wanted to know why a paranoid schizophrenic would tell someone he thought was a CIA agent that he thought they were a CIA agent? And how would them being the same age as him confirm that they were a CIA agent? So many questions!

But I left them to it and they had a very level conversation about his condition, the CIA and the drugs he was suppose to take but didn't - because being a paranoid schizophrenic he thought the drugs were the CIA trying to control him... probably true

Anyway not traumatic but amusing enough to re-tell (hopefully)

Length? I think they were still talking when I got off the bus
( Sunburnt Tiger Herbie goes Piranhas!, Fri 30 May 2008, 14:35, 1 reply)

Right
I'm off to Edinburgh on the train now. This QOTW will be foremost in my mind, and I shall hone my passenger observation skills in case I get a decent story out of the journey, hopefully involving a drunken Scotsman/woman/chav/anyone really, a bottle of White Lightening cider and an amusing incident with a toilet door that won't close properly.

Or something.

See y'all Sunday! Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 30 May 2008, 14:35, 8 replies)

After a heavy night on the lash...
My mate went home from our mini-holiday in preston one day early as he felt rough...

When i spoke to him when home, he admitted to having to barf on the bus journey.

In a carrier bag.

With the little safety holes in.

Nice.
(gin'll fix it, Fri 30 May 2008, 14:34, Reply)

School bus again...
Once, on the bus home from school, there was a used condom hanging over the emergency exit bar at the back of the bus on the top floor.

One of the chavvy smoker type girls, who just *had* to sit at the back on the top, found this horrible yet amusing item and proceeded to push open the emergency exit and drop said johnny out of the window. (bus was stationary in school grounds at this time)

The driver alarm was triggered, we were all made to get off and the girl in question was banned from the bus for a year.

Harsh i thought...
(gin'll fix it, Fri 30 May 2008, 14:32, Reply)

Cocaine is one hell of a drug
When I still lived dahn sarf in fancy Lahndahn, I was good mates with a lovely Scouse bird called Emma. We used to meet up, take huge amounts of cocaine and ecstasy and generally have a whale of time in and around Camden.

One morning, I had to get from Emma's flat in Camden to work in Finchley after a heavy, heavy night. It was 8am on a wednesday and so the tube on The Misery Line (the black one, whichever one that is) was packed. I had previously been to Boots and had bought a pack of 'brufen, two cans of redbull and a bottle of water, in an attempt at passed fior not hammered when I got into work. I took half a dozen 'brufen and caned the two cans of redbull whilst stood on the pltform of that station that's one down from Camden, Mornington Crescent, is it? Anyway, I started to feel human when the afore mentioned packed tube arrived so I squeezed myself onto it and tried to find room to sip from my water. A couple of minutes I needed to burp and did so, vomiting a mix of redbull and painkillers all over a dozen or so, quite nicely dressed commuters. I tried to say sorry, but all that came out was more puke.

I just stuck out the rest of the journey, barely holding it together and avoiding the gazes of the disgusted public.
(ScousersPet, Fri 30 May 2008, 14:31, 2 replies)

Last train from Victoria
To Dover Priory on a Friday night is pretty grim, but it is a fast train. Last time I got on it a young chap in a pinstripe suit vomited between his feet and I had to spend the entire journey with my feet suspended in mid air as his vomit sloshed merrily from one end of the carriage t'other.

Now I know exactly why they call it 'The Vomit Comet'
(GirlOfTheWorld, Fri 30 May 2008, 14:14, Reply)

Disability ftw
I attend Kingston University and live in NW London. It's only about 17 miles as the crow flies but on the most awkward tube/national rail system EVER it's like a 2hr journey.

During Freshers' Week I decided it would be a fabulous idea to walk along a kerb completely pissed. Fate thought it would be a fabulous idea to snap my ankle in half. I thought it would be a fabulous idea to walk home for about a mile on a broken ankle, being far too pissed to realise it was broken.

The next day I hobbled to hospital, got splinted up and X-rayed and was given a crutch. Within a couple of weeks I didn't need it anymore so resumed my full mobility.

However, whenever I make the home-Uni or Uni-home trek, often in the mornings or evenings where seats are scarce, I very often take the crutch I don't need. It's amazing how nice people are to cripples. I always get a seat.

The best thing is the look on their faces when I hobble off the train then collapse the crutch, throw it over my shoulder and stroll off, whistling.

Ticket to Hull pls.
(MJPerry was crude but clickable at, Fri 30 May 2008, 14:14, Reply)

*Clip*
I commute to London by coach from the wilds of Kent on a daily basis so it's almost like this qotw was made for me.

On the coach, there's an unwritten rule that once we get out onto the M2 excessive noise is strictly verboten.

In the mornings, I have a very low tolerance noisy buggers on MY coach, I get up at 5:15 every day and value my nap on the way into work.

I especially dislike it when someone decides to clip their fingernails on the coach, in the seat directly behind me....With every *clip* I could feel my blood pressure rising, but none the less I could have coped had a shard of fingernail not become entangled in my hair. At that moment a red mist descended, I removed the offending fingernail, shifted round in my seat, gave them my views on public fingernail clippage and threw the errant nail over the top of the seat into their lap.

HUMPH!

It's my first post, so be nice please!
(GirlOfTheWorld, Fri 30 May 2008, 14:09, 3 replies)

My mate Dave
was on a bus with a mate of his. Sitting in front of a couple of 'attractive' chavettes, they were party to their every word (every other word of which was 'fuck', or a variation of). Dave and his mate were trying to chat, but were repeatedly distracted by the stream of badly constructed obscenities, interspersed with the odd proper word, like chips, or kebabs.

They were hooked. It was like their very own mini Big-Brother, with 'ordinary' people laying their souls bare for the whole bus to be party to.

Then chavette #1 piped up, "Ah wuz wiv wor lad last neet, it were lush. W' had a proppa sesh, like, an' ah lerrim howk aal owa me chebs".*

Dave an his mate were both pissing themselves by this point, whereupon his mate turned around and said, "You let him howk all over your chebs? That's really classy".

Chavette just glared at him, probably not fully understanding that the phrase 'classy' was meant in a derogatory way.

Gotta love public transport sometimes.

*Translation: I was with my fella last night. We had a lovely time and as a token of my love for him, I let him spill his seed upon my breasts.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 30 May 2008, 14:06, 9 replies)

I'm so sorry....
...if you were on the Northern Line, in the morning rush hour, in summer 2004, the day I decided to use the tube to get to a rehearsal.

I was playing tuba in the first half, and cello in the second.

Now after the first, say, 4 or 5 trains had proved impossible to board, eventually I hit on the cunning idea of waiting for the doors to open, where some poor commuters were greeted with:

"It's heavy, metal, and coming your way in about 2 seconds" before I threw the tuba through the doors, and followed in its wake into a now quite reasonable space, cello nonchalently hitched over my shoulder.

I thoroughly recommend the purchase of a tuba to all commuters. Yes, they're quite heavy, but once on they make an excellent seat, and a surprisingly good conversation opener with members of the opposite sex.
( prince-igor si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses, Fri 30 May 2008, 13:58, Reply)

A trustworthy friend...
Once told me a story his sister told him a year or two ago:

(When I first heard this tale, it smelt suspiciously of bullshit, but this chap is a very honest guy and it sounds like it might be true)

His sister, I think she went by the name of Kim, was out in Manchester celebrating a close friends birthday.

With it being a sunday, and our Kim having to be in work the following day, she made her goodbyes earlier than the rest of the party and proceeded to head towards the train station and home.

After boarding the train towards the end of a carriage, but facing down the carriage, she notices 3 women getting on the same carriage and sitting down.

After a while, she noticed that the middle of the three women was asleep and didn't look to well but didn't think anything of it at the time.

A couple of stops before the one required, the train driver announced that this would be the last stop and everyone would have to depart the train.

Slightly annoyed, Kim left the train and got a connecting bus home and went to sleep.

Reading the paper the next day, one of the stories caught her attention about a body being found on a train and two women having been arrested.

It turned out that the three women were prostitutes and two of them had killed the third...

Sounds like an urban legend to me but you never know!
(gin'll fix it, Fri 30 May 2008, 13:58, 1 reply)

The Stench
A few years ago I was working for a 'City' firm - long lunches, longer dinners and 1st class travel everywhere. One morning, after only a couple of hours sleep I was in my 1st class compartment travelling down to London. I was feeling a bit 'jaded', and last nights curry was still sitting heavily in my stomach.

Slowly I fell asleep, lulled by the gentle rocking motion of the train, and I dropped my book onto the floor. This woke me up, and I squirmed in my seat to fit my head under the table in front of me so I could see where the book had landed. As I got my head between my knees, the train lurched, and the contents of my stomach very quietly shot up and out, leaving themselves neatly in a pile on the floor. I looked around - I'd not got a drop on anyone's shoes or trousers. Slowly I retrieved my book, sat up straight, and settled down for the final 1/2 hours trip feeling much better. But it did smell a bit by the time we reached London.
(Hop, Fri 30 May 2008, 13:54, Reply)

Still makes me smile..
Picture the scene, I was a young(er) Agnostic, travelling home from school on the double decker bus, seated next to the stairs.

As is custom, with everyone that came up the stairs, I gave a quick glance, to see if I knew them. I've always done this, never had a problem before or since. One day I looked, and the lad on his way up the stairs took offence to my doing this.

"What da fuck are yuw lookin at?"
Stoically, I ignored him.
"I sed, what da fuck are yuw looking at?!"
Once again, I ignored him.

This goes on for about 30 seconds in which he calls me all the names under the sun, tells me who he is, and how he's going to batter me. Now beyond my initial glance, I haven't even looked at him. When he starts going on about how much of a slut my mother must be (see b3ta.com/questions/deadbodies/post124665 for why that might annoy me)

It's at this point I start laughing. A lot. This lad who is trying to look all 'ard is only about an inch taller stood up than I am sat down. Now this he really doesn't like, and proceeds to give me what he referred to as a 'forearm', I'd call it more a tickle. He then swaggers off to sit with the other mouth breathing pricks (who hate me) at the back of the bus, all cheering him.

I just keep my eyes forward, still sniggering over his tinyness (I don't do confrontation). 4 stops later, 1 before mine, he gets up to get off, ringing every bell on his way to the stairs, thinking he's funny. As he reaches me, he takes a swing for my head, connecting with the back, hurting his hand a good deal more than my head. He then goes to swagger down the stairs, yelling obscenities.

I decided to help him down the stairs with my right foot. From the noise at the bottom of the stairs, he fell into someone who didn't like that fact, and decided to remove him from the bus pulling by the sideburn. All that we could hear was a squealing, and then the doors shutting, and the little shit shouting at the unknown remover.

It later turned out he was telling me who he was, to try and get respect. He's from what would often be referred to as a nasty family, only slightly worse. His father was currently serving jail time for armed robbery, his sister was pregnant with her third child (at the age of 19), and he had been expelled from 2 schools by the age of 8. How did I find this out, I hear you b3tans cry?

His uncle owns the burger van we often frequent when we're in the area. Is a cracking guy, and happily tells us about the family that refused to talk to him after he went straight.

Bloody hell, that's an essay and a half!

Length? About 8 stairs
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Fri 30 May 2008, 13:52, 1 reply)

I was that person.......
It was somewhere in the mid to late 90's (that part of my life is a blur), first tube out of docklands (may have been DLR) on new years day, after a World Dance new years eve warehouse type rave thing. Copius drugs had been taken by all.

The entire train was full of ravers, palid skin, wide eyes made entireley of pupil, all with over active jaws goin' on.

We pulled out from one station, and my gut decided that it no longer wanted it's contents. I held it, held it, held it, no good it was coming, so I moved off towards the doors, the train was slowing into my station, slowing down, coming to a halt, the doors are beeping, bleeeeeuuuurrrggghhhhh.

I'd had nothing but water all night, and just finished the best part of a litre of ribena. This was projected all over the inside of the doors, walls and floor a split second before the doors opened.

As the train pulled past me walking down the platform all I could see through the windows were drug enhanced dirty looks and retching folk.

Sorry everyone, but I was the purple puker.
(Reverend Samson Fapohunda B3tan, B3tan, B3tan, B3tan, Fri 30 May 2008, 13:41, Reply)

Scottish psychologist obnoxiousness.
We were the nightmare travellers. My wife and I, and our 18 month old daughter. I must speak up for some parents, like us, who are also just trying to get where we need to go like everybody else, but we have the added difficulty of keeping our kids amused and quiet during the journey. It's shit enough for us to sit on manky trains for hours, imagine how they feel. I know it's annoying when she's crying. Do you think I fucking enjoy it?

Anyway, We'd had a nice couple of nights in Edinburgh. Visited the zoo etc and were on our way home on Monday afternoon. We boarded at Waverley and sat at one side of a table, awaiting our departure. Some middle aged woman in Ugg boots she'd apparently borrowed from her teenage daughter told me that she'd reserved the seat I was sitting in. I tried to explain that our reservations had given both my wife and I window seats on either side of the table, and since we also had our toddler it would be easier if we sat aside eachother.

Snotty woman began to get irritated (I could tell because she began to gesticulate with her copy of 'The Scotsman'. I gave up and we all sat in our assigned seats. Arrogant woman sat beside my wife and I was joined by her fat and sweaty companion who had obviously developed a passionate and prolonged relationship with fried foods and chocolate.

I'd like to thank that arrogant and sanctimonious cunt for making a hot and cramped journey that little bit more unpleasant through her mindless fucking pedantry. I'd also like to apologise to you and your companion for the barrage of juice, biscuits, sweeties, spit and chewed apple you valliantly endured. I didn't give her all that shit on purpose, honest, no really.

Sorry, Mr Obese, that she thought it was hilarious to kick you from my lap and watch your enormous gut ripple.

You see, if you weren't the obnoxious, pedantic, academia-dwelling, sanctimonious pair of cunts that you were, you may have realised the mutual benefit in my offer of seat swapping and my daughter could have been safely contained between her mother and I without incident.


Please give a thought to travelling parents. We can't really be arsed with our kids screaming either, so there's a sadistic pleasure in seeing them wipe snot / chocolate / drool on the designer clothing of those who choose to act like cunts rather than humans.

Apologies for length and rantingness.
*Takes two spoons of Calpol and goes for a nap*
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Fri 30 May 2008, 13:35, 2 replies)

Please shut up!!!!
On the train to Edinburgh this morning, massively hungover and having forgot my ipod. Listening to 3 women seated at the same table as me harp on for the entire journey about the Sex and The City film and how great it was.

How I wished for a triple bout of laryngitis...or a big knife to cut their fucking tongues out.

Length:- 35 minutes of incessant chatter
(Kia Ora it's 2 orangey 4 crows, it's just 4 me and my dog, Fri 30 May 2008, 13:35, Reply)

woo, I thought I didn't have a story for this
but I've just remembered one

Now, it wasn't strictly terrible, although my companions and I may have made it so for others...

A few years back I went to Roskilde Festival in Denmark. To describe it I would say that it is like the festivals in this country were before they were full of cunts. and when new music was still good.

The first time I went (other than my friends) I only heard 2 other English people. That's what you want on holiday, plus other benefits such as seeing Iron Maiden and Metallica on the same day, as well as Rammstein, Chilli Peppers, Massive Attack...the list goes on.

We spent 5 days stoned out of our gourds on fantastic weed, and high on the strongest of mushrooms. A fantastic time was had by all.

The journey back home however was a nightmare.

The trains from the festival to Roskilde itself, then to Copenhagen were rammed with stinky festival goers such as ourselves. This didn't matter so much as there was a shared stupor and rather a ringing in the ears.

In the name of cheap flights we had secured entry to Denmark via Sweden and Malmo airport. This meant a bus over the bridges and through the tunnels etc.

The bus and train rides themselves were fine, everything you'd expect from the efficient parts of Europe, but there was a hint of sniffer dog at border control. This caused a few hearts to pound, but nothing came of it. another relief.

At this point you may be wondering to yourselves where the trauma is.

It's here.

We arrived at Malmo airport to find that we now had 26 hours to wait for our flight.

Everyone was completely skint. We were students, and had spent every last cent on drugs at the festival. We were all in the middle of a massive comedown from a week long binge and had to wait in a small airport.

For 26 Hours....

Everyone was too paranoid to sneak away and finish off our smuggled stashes. We had no money for food. The only saving grace was the fact that there was a shower in the airport free to use. (The best shower ever)

It was during this mammoth stint that I had my unfortunate hackysack accident, which has led (in similar fashion to my terrible juggling accident) to me never playing hackysack since...

The flight home was bearable, didn't stick in the memory much.

The train ride from Stanstead to Cardiff went by in a horrible noisy blur but I breathed a sigh of relief to get in a taxi at Cardiff station with the very last scrapings of money to find it driven by a large rasta, blaring reggae and with a huge block of hash on the dash board.

It was good to be home.
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Fri 30 May 2008, 13:26, Reply)

Public Transport: Great for carrying drugs around
After all, if you're going to carry around a shitload of illegal substances, surely the best way to do it would be suited and booted on a bus or train?

I have NEVER seen a bus get searched (I'm sure it happens, but only in London).

(By the way, I'm not a dealer, I'm just wondering why more dealers DON'T use public transport.)
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Fri 30 May 2008, 13:26, 3 replies)

Good samaritan
A couple of years ago, my friend Jim and I were on the train home from central London after a pleasant evening of beer drinking.

On the seat on the other side of the aisle, a smartly dressed elderly gent seemed to be in some serious discomfort, unable to sit or stand without grimacing.

Being the public-spirited kind of chap that I am, I asked if he was alright and he asked whether I could help him.

How could I refuse? I walked over and he proceeded to lie down across the double seat before explaining that his hip joint had popped out of its socket.

It was then up to me to grab him by the ankle and pull - hard - more than once - until his hip was back in its rightful place.

I was drunk, I'm quite squeamish, and this was not the end I was expecting to the evening.

I still shudder when I think about the 'pop' as his joint righted itself...

And the old git got off at the next station without so much as a thank you.
(Judgeysan Freakishly small hands, Fri 30 May 2008, 13:22, 1 reply)

Bunnies on a train
Several years ago my company was having an economy drive (except for the CEO of course) and I had to travel from Edinburgh to Bracknell......on the train.....on a Sunday. Joy!

I got on the train in Edinburgh, found my seat, and checked out the ticket on the seat next to me to find out how long I'd have before someone, who probably grunts and smells, sits next to me.

Eventually we pull into the station where this passenger is getting on. It's like being on a plane during boarding with an empty seat next to you. I'm weighing up who I wouldn't mind sat next to me and who I definitely don't want sat next to me......Or even better, hoping they've missed the train.....please god, pleeeease.

Well down the corridor approaches little old country-cottage bag-lady carrying a cage. Nooooooo. Please not her. Anyone but her. But it is. She pops the cage on the table, sits next to me and admires an advert for those one big slippers grannies have in her People's Friend.

The cage has got two rabbits in it and it stinks to fuck. The train is on its merry way and the cage starts rattling and moving along the table. At first I reckon it's just the movement of the train causing this, but instead the rabbits are shagging away, big time. Yay! I'm desperately trying to keep a straight face, like the guards from the "Biggus Dickus" sketch in "Life of Brian". But I make the fatal mistake of looking up from my magazine and catch the eye of the lass sat opposite, also trying not to laugh. It's game over. The pair of us crack up in hysterics.

All the while, bag-lady is tapping on the cage telling them to stop it. No chance. She then offers them some lettuce leaf. Coz let's face it, in the middle of a good hard shag there's nowt more tempting than a bit of lettuce.

Length? Too furry to tell.
(mr_spoon, Fri 30 May 2008, 13:18, Reply)

I am posting this for the Chav on the 163
Last year, during the Rugby world cup, I was on my local bus going to the pub to watch the England match. On the bus were about eleven South Africans who were clearly avid fans and avid players. Some of them were huge. The type of blokes you would address as Sir yes Sir.

One of the larger blokes had brought his younger brother along to watch the game. The boy was about 17 and was quite weedy. I am sure that in his family he was the academic while his elder brother was the sportsman. The majority of the group sat on the back few rows of the top deck with the younger brother sitting on his own in the row in front of them.

We pulled into the next stop and just as we did the younger brother’s phone rang. He turned away from the group and started talking to his mate on the phone.

It was at that exact time that a group of five 16-18 year old chavs got on the bus.

They had hoodies, music blaring from their mobiles and bright white trainers on. They were doing nothing for stereotypes.

They approached the younger brother and said/spat

“Let me see ya mobile innit”
“No” said the younger brother in a remarkably brave voice
“I’m taxing ya mobile, give it ere or I will blade you with me flicky innit” replied the Chav gang leader
“Your do what” said the younger brother
“Ill cut you”

Now I am sure you’re expecting me to say that the group of South African rugby types stood up and kicked several shades of shit out of the chavs, but, they done something quite unexpected

They sat there and waited until the next stop in silence. As the bus come to a stop they walked past the chavs (giving a sly wink to the younger brother) as if they were heading to the stairs. Once they were all past the chavs they had them cornered on the bus with no where to run.

The elder brother approached the chav gang leader and advised him that he, and his entourage, would be best advised to take a seat at the back of the bus. The Chavs kicked up a bit of a fuss, but, eventually decided to comply when the older brother lifted the Chav leader clean off the ground by the neck. With one arm.

Once the chavs were at the back of the bus the South Africans demanded there phones, ipods, door keys, wallets etc. When they had collected the entire contents of the Chavs pockets they opened the bus window and dropped the items out one by one.
They then spent the remainder of the two mile journey writing words like “thief”, “robber”, “Chav” and “cunt” on the thieving-chavy-cunts faces.

And to add a final insult – the elder brother gave the chav leader two options. Piss himself in the middle of the bus or have his teeth removed.

The entire top deck laughed as a dark patch quickly appeared on his Kappa jogging bottoms.

As they got off the bus the South Africans were singing

“Chavy boy has pissed his pants do dah do dah”

Perhaps that was his most traumatic journey on public transport. It was one of the funniest for me!
( KISS.ME.WHERE.I.POO Signed the sex offenders register on, Fri 30 May 2008, 13:13, 17 replies)

Bus flood.
Coming back from a rather dull day at the coast with a couple of mates, the last leg of our journey was a half-hour bus ride home from town. Being teenagers, we seated ourselves in the obligatory 'upstairs at the back' area. We were joined within a couple of stops by two or three inebriated chav-ettes of the lowest order.

One friend, Danny, who would basically try it on with anything slightly warm (pulse preferred) started to make inroads with a screeching harpie but was interrupted by her announcement to the entire bus (double decker, Saturday afternoon, 3/4 full) that she was "Proper dying for a piss, man!"

Even then, I was quite the gentleman so I turned away as she stretched her knickers aside and squatted between the seats. What followed was not the discreet tinkle I has naively expected to endure, more a torrent of second hand Bellabruscobrini. Probably the jumbo 3-litre bottle. The spattering noise emitted as the urine streamed to the floor joined forces with the pungent aroma of boozy evaporated piss to leave no passenger in any doubt as to what had occurred.

The piece-de-resistance came only a few minutes later when the bus began to descend a long and fairly steep hill. Thankfully the convex shape of the bus floor contained the fluid on the opposide side of the aisle to which I was seated. I watched as all of the passengers on that side had their feet splashed by the torrent, nay the rivulet of urine that sloshed back and forth (complete with splishy-splashy sound effects) on the deck for the remainder of our journey.

It was with deep shame that I observed Danny take the occurence as a minor setback and continue his charm offensive on the increasingly uncoordinated, piss-spattered, disgrace of a girl.

Length? About 40 feet, I think.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Fri 30 May 2008, 13:03, 5 replies)

Rock on!
Earlier this month I travelled to London to visit an old friend. I travelled by Virgin Train on one of their fantastic new Pendolino tilting trains. These trains are truly fantastic and can make the journey between Manchester and London is 2 hours and 15 minutes. The journey down to London was fine but the journey back up as absolutely horrific.

I boarded the train at London Euston and settled into my seat in coach D. All the seats I could see, including mine and the one next to me, were reserved. As the train was pulling out of Euston a young lady came down the isle with two children running around her. Now let me put this into perspective. This young lady could not have been more than 22 years old and was one of those people who should not have custody of a goldfish never mind an actual child. She hovered next to the vacant, reserved seat (not reserved for her I should add) and then looked at the lady sitting at the opposite window and asked "Is anybody sittin' 'ere?". “UM no" replied the lady. "AJ you sit there" she said pointing to the seat next to the lady. She then plonked herself down next to me and her young daughter climbed onto her lap. I don't know how old this daughter was, younger than AJ, but she was certainly old enough to jump up and down on a train seat screaming which she did periodically throughout the journey. This daughter kept bashing into me, the mother kept bashing into
me, both the kids screamed, jumped and ran around. They made a terrible mess of the place. Biscuit crumbs everywhere, the daughter smeared melted chocolate (it was a hot day) all over the fold down table and when they left there were sweet packets and other rubbish left behind. I could fill pages with their antics but I think you get the idea.

So what to do. I have a taste for hard rock and although not a rocker as such I do like
heavy music. After an hour of being pushed, bashed and listening to the kids screaming (and the mother screaming at the kids), I couldn't take it anymore. I pulled out my Ipod and found the loudest, baddest heavy metal I could and turned the volume up until I couldn’t hear the screaming any more. I started off with Rammstein's Rosenrot album and when that finished moved on to Trivium's album The Crusade. While I could no longer hear the kids screaming I was still being pushed and bashed. With just over an hour left in the journey the mother got up to take the kids to the toilet. When she retuned she didn't sit next to me! She booted AJ out of his seat and sat next to the lady. I should point out that by the end of the first hour both the kids were out of control and AJ was spending very little time in the seat unlike his little sister who had been driving me nuts while she sat
on her mothers lap. Anyway, with the seat next to me vacant the rest of the journey was more pleasant. Result!
(advokilt, Fri 30 May 2008, 13:00, Reply)

Busses and Babes
A few years back after a heavy night on the tiles I had the need to use a bus to get back into town to retrieve my car from outside the pub where i'd left it the night before.

It was around mid afternoon on a Sunday and the bus was empty apart from me and 3 young girls around the ages of about 18/20.

They had got onto the bus after me and had chosen to sit about two or three rows in front of me.

No probs there, they were all good looking and smelled nicely..... of girl......

However after a few minutes I started to pick up on the conversation of one in particular who had clearly had a "busy" night the night before.

She happily regaled her friends with stories of a lad she picked up at the local cattle market less than 15 hours before..

Again no real probs.

I sat, listened and quietly chuckled to myself whilst trying to kid on I was doing no more than taking in the view as we made our way into town.

So where does the trauma come in? you may ask. Nice babes and a fruity story. Certainly better than Sunday School......

I'll tell you where..........

Just before she left the bus the Lass from Saturday parted with those immortal words "I had to work so hard, god it was good"........... as she let it be known she was now about five minutes from round two (yes she was going back for more).....

Traumatised.............. I was fking livid!

Why have I never met girls that are happy to "work so hard".......... and who were happy to do it at least twice..............



Thinks????


And stops typing............



I started using taxis after that.
(Dark Matter All The Wonders In The World & We Invent Boredom, Fri 30 May 2008, 12:52, Reply)

Kids Eh?
Back when I was a supply teacher I was working over in Liverpool and living in Chester (not so bad you think but I was on public transport hence the story)

Every day for 3 months I'd get up at 6. Go the train station. Get the train to Liverpool. Get the bus to Alderhey hospital. Then walk to the school I was teaching at.

One day one of the kids I taught saw me on the bus and said:

'Hey sir, Why weren't you driving? I saw you on the Loser Cruiser this morning'

I'd have told him off but I was too busy laughing.

Great name - Loser Cruiser
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Fri 30 May 2008, 12:40, Reply)

This afternoon
DG and myself are nipping up to Edinburgh on the train with a couple of mates and staying overnight.
We figure on travelling light, so he's just said, "Shall we take my camping rucksack?"
"How big is it?" I asked.
"Oh, it's big," he replied. "Your make-up bag will fit in."

Blighter.
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Fri 30 May 2008, 12:38, 10 replies)

My Mate Lincoln
First let me tell you about Lincoln. He is a six foot seven, thin as you like black guy with the scariest bulging eyes you will ever encounter. When Lincoln would talk to you he would get within an inch of your nose and look directly at you while talking extremely loudly. Never actually giving a thought for what you were saying he would go off on random tangents about the possibility of Smurfs being higher beings and how chicken and chip shops and fronts for Peado rings. Sexually and socially inappropriate comments were also his forte. Got the Picture.... good, lets continue with the story.

So one sunny morning, Lincoln bowls into work with a smile that is not familiar to him at half six in the morning. He would usually kick something as hard as he can and shout random abuse but this morning his cheery disposition and shit-eating grin seems slightly scary. With a due sense of dread and curiosity I ask him why he is so happy (I was expecting him to say something along the lines of that he had just fire bombed a Macdonald's).

He goes onto to retort a rather strange experience on the bus that morning involving a young lady. Lincoln told me he jumped on the bus as usual; this would probably involve telling many members of the public to fuck off, and took his seat. After a few stops he said that a rather pretty girl got on the bus and sat next to him, not only did this surprise him because there were plenty of seats available (and me cause he always has a look that suggest serial killer) but also said hello if not quite loudly. This must have excited Lincoln cause not only was she pretty, she sat next to him and was on his space invading ear drum busting level. He went on to tell me that she was not very talkative but nodded responsively to his general ranting and wild hand gestures.

So knowing his stop was coming up soon he said he tried to get her number. After several minutes of this girl simply nodding her head to his vain attempts at getting her number Lincoln gets out his own phone and started to wildly tap his phone. The now probably very frightened, the girl gets out her phone and hands it over to Lincoln. He told me he rang his own phone on her phone to get her number and then gave it back and then said his goodbyes and got off at the next stop.

Still busting with happiness he told me that he was going to ring her later after work. But being the picky twat that he can be he said she had these funny skin coloured headphones in both ears and never took them out while talking to him.

Oh dear Lincoln... I think you may have given a poor deaf girl the scariest bus journey of her life.

If you were that deaf girl back in the summer of 1999 and came across this nutter you have my sympathies. You must have been petrified.

Length- Suck it, Fuck it and Love it.
(CaptainCuntyBollocks the man who can with a frying pan full of lamb, Fri 30 May 2008, 12:38, Reply)