This happened late Summer '05 at some point.
Wake up at 6AM. Throw something resembling clothes onto my body and have a vagueish stab at wandering into college. By the time I get there (8 15) I'm already beginning to sweat. Roll on lesson one with the windows wide open.

Fuck, no breeze.

Sweat pours out of every pore and my t shirt sticks to me like it wants my babies in a passionate embrace. Coat gets stuffed into an already over-crowded bag and abandoned.

2 45PM

End of college day. 29 bastard degrees. Dread what comes next. I knew it was coming, its been planned all week.

I walk the 400yds to the train station, the soles of my already battered trainers melting and sticking to the pavement. I buy my travelcard and go into the station.

Nice and cool inside, and as I round the final corner to begin my ascent to the platform, al looks promising. Then a shaft of light blinds me.

Bollocks.

I sweat it out for another 6 minutes before the train to Waterloo comes. I swear, someone was following me around London with a bucket. I descend into the bowels of the station destined for the Northern Line to take me the solitary stop to Embankment(I have a travelcard, I'm not walking in the heat.) It begins to dawn on me that as I drop down level after level of stairs, its getting warmer. Hell is dawning just around the next bend, I can feel it already.

Its so hot down there, even the rats were gasping for breath. My tube arrives. The saviour in a metal cabin. Was it fuck. It was hotter in there amongst the mass of swarming, shuffling, coughing bodies than it was outside. "Bad move there, Garry" I tells myself. I disembark the tube and piss off further into the seedy belly of the Underground Transport Network for either the Circle or the District lines. It matters not, they both go to Victoria, my destination for the near future.

I stand on the relatively cool platform, and I become aware that someoe is talking to me in a French accent. She says "Zis is where I get ze traaainn to Victoria?" I tell her to let me think a moment. She says "Monsiuer, pardon?"

"I'm sorry, are your ears painted on?"(I'm getting irate with one and all at this point) "Listen to the fucking platform announcements."

"Oui, oui" Buggering French people.

So, finally, thy death inducing heat machine pulls up alongside my leaking carcass and I roll on to the tune of "Do You Dig Me Baby" by The Subways. How irritatingly conveinient.

"Its only 3 stops" I says "No-one will care about the volume" So, as you can guess, the very instant my personal space was rudely breached by some large arse, but a small and weasel featured man arrives on the scene asking me to turn down the music. He gets a nod, a wink and a fuck off.

Right. I'm at Victoria. Blistering sunshine, even worse heat and its now 3:54PM. 1 hour and 36 minutes early. Shit, what now?

I begin to slowly saunter down the main drag to the Bus Station looking for any signs of refreshment that hasnt been passed through someone about 40 million times on its way through to me. I find it in a huuuuuuuuuge shop not far from the station. Perhaps my luck is changing? Nah, cant be, this is me, of course. This happy episode of sweat, toil, tears and Irn Bru was concluded in a somewhat sprightly 9 minutes. Still bloody eons until the Bus Departs.

I find a sheltered, shady spot at the gate. Luckily for me, it was right beside the toilets, so every time someone walked out, I got several gallons of urine and "clean" tap water thrust at me from many directions. However, because I am on the floor, and this is of cold stone, I am surprisingly content.

Roll on 5 30

Bus finally decides to arrive.

5 45

Still bored, but we do get the lovely priveledge of queueing up for another 20 minutes listening to some irate Irish woman talking about some gibberish to do with "Those bastard droivers not letting my on the foooookin' coach. I should slap that foooker"

On the coach at last. Shaded spot, of course, this time not beside the urine shower area. I'm sitting on the drivers side of the coach. "Champion!", I think, because that means the sun wont be in my face.

Is it possible for me to be more wrong. From the moment we pulled out of Victoria, the sun was giving me a winning smile from every direction I turned. I read a magazine, the glare from the pages blinds me. I read a book, the white pages reflect the gaze. I listen to music, I stare out the window, guess who the happy bastard staring back is. Yup, well done, Satan's Football. Lovely.

9 49PM

Finally roll into Bath Bus Station. Too many hours since I last saw dry land, and another human being who wasnt nattering about pointless subject like the FUCKING WEATHER!

I KNOW ITS HOT, I CAN FEEL IT. I KNOW ITS BRIGHT OUT, I AM NOT BLIND. DO NOT SAY ONE MORE WORD ABOUT THE FUCKING WEATHER TO ME, OR SLAPPINGS WILL BE DEALT.
"Rude little fooooker, aint he?"
*screams many a bad word*

Get off the bus. Strech legs. Realise legs are still on the coach, decide to abandon them there in search of a better future away from all things buslike.

Find my Relevant Collector(in this case, step-dad) and hobble slowly, on my stumps, to his car. A Ford Sodding Probe, to give it its full title.

Smooth, quiet ride, stuck behind a trio of tractors. I nearly cried. Got into the house in Westbury and collapsed through the front door. Had to be dragged cursing busses forevermore.

01 35 AM

Have been roused by liquids of a fizzy nature, and haribo, I begin to feel better. Still fucked off with French and Irish. Still in need to kill things.

I remember spending the night peeling fabric from a small puddle which was forming beneath my arse. Not a comfortable night.

No apologies for length, its all I have.
(King of Swandanavia Proud owner of the worlds first Flong, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 10:00, Reply)