Writers block, British Rail and streaking around London with a sausage up your bottom!

Ever have a day where you just can’t write. I have, it’s the main reason for writing this.

Not sure where or why, what the subject might be because that’s what happens some days. One word follows another and before you know it you have a sort of alphabet train forming, one word from the next, stopping intermittently as it gains momentum, or derails.

Obviously on days when you get creative block you can associate that with a ‘British Rail’ sort of mindset. Thoughts all patiently queued up and going nowhere fast. Thankfully your mind doesn’t then charge you £2.50 for a cup of hot p*ss, but the principles very much the same.

A few times I was unfortunate enough to get something they referred to as ‘Tea’. Honestly, I can’t prove it but I’m not so sure they don’t just pipe it straight from the Urinals, and some days it wasn’t even that appetizing. They should maybe just sell hot rain. It’s not like there’ll be a shortage either.

Most of the time it’s the rain that stops the actual service anyway so the least they could do is give you a mug full of the stuff while you’re wondering why you even hoped to get anywhere nearer your destination on what is clearly a water soluble means of transport.

I’m not kidding either. In the UK we are gifted with a weather system so cunning it can bring a whole nation to it’s knees, several times a day and without effort too.

To assist us in our plight to moan daily, we also have the worlds most expensive and sh*ttest train service in existence to reinforce out commitment to the cause, ‘British Rail’.

For years I honestly thought it did run on one f*cking rail, but that actually implies that it runs.

After years of being a commuter and travelling by telepathy I did see that it did have what roughly looked like two tracks running in parallel, one would assume to get you to the other f*cking end at least…

I remember fondly one glorious summer day, standing in the ranks of other p*ssed off, wet, cold and miserable commuters, all hoping that Aliens would turn up having taken pity on us, and ask us why we’d been stood idly, bitching to ourselves about something that might or might not appear at any given time and take us possibly somewhere roughly near where we want to go.

“It’s called a train, we get on them to go from A – B, sometimes.” – we reply in Unison, all hopeful that the Aliens will at least share their technology with us and spirit us away.

Meanwhile, back on the platform we waited for the ‘train’… If you were lucky it might even be the train you want too.

More often than not, so many trains had been delayed or cancelled that by the time one did turn up people would just throw themselves on regardless of where it was going.

Sometimes it was just easier to turn up for work 3 hours late having walked 20 km from f*ck knows where because you couldn’t stand the excitement of hoping your train would actually turn up.

I know it’s harsh but a lot of people do use the trains to commit suicide, there were quite a few times when for a change, the train would be delayed due to someone hurling themselves in front of the train but it does get you like that some days.

Not that it’s a laughing matter either, it’s not. The trauma for the Driver and those unlucky enough to bear witness is quite tragic never mind the personal loss to those yet to be informed.

Plus you have to be committed. Some people are probably more likely to die of old age well before a train were to come along. Plus, it’d be quite an ordeal if you were all geared up to throw yourself under the next train and it was delayed due to someone beating you to it… Bloody Typical.

Since privatization though, costs have gotten so bad I’m surprised British Rail don’t charge you extra for it.

I must admit it has been a while since I was last in the UK, so I suspect that they might by now.

I remember once being on a tube train when it had to stop on my way back from a conference in London, on what must have been the hottest day that year, everyone trapped like canned sardines with at least two armpits in your face and someone else’s boner in your pocket.

It wasn’t pretty. After half an hour the boner would ease off and you’d get an armpit change which was nice but other than that I can just remember thinking about all the times I’d chuckled at the films where in parts of the world people all sit on the tops of the trains.

How I envied them this day.

Even to be sat on the roof in the rain would be nice, it the damned thing actually moved in any particular direction, then our prayers would surely have been answered.

They weren’t. Thankfully it was so hot no one needed to go to the bathroom as the days fluids were now already steaming from everyone’s nether regions and places where sweat shouldn’t sweat. If you were really unlucky, the person who’s armpit was being slowly fed to you would have already quenched your need for more secondhand sweat as it trickled down their matted heads and dripped of their nose onto your shirt.

Don’t thank me for the mental picture, you really had to be there to appreciate what true misery was that day. I suspect there were probably quite a few people who were violated without knowing it. I know I was.

Thankfully we don’t get unintentionally groped in the confines of our own minds, sure, we might be busy elsewhere in our deepest and wildest thoughts, but for all intents and purposes we often have to pretend we’re actually listening to someone prattle away about something you’d only ever care about at gun point.

Lately I do it a lot. It’s not all bad, and I lovingly use the term ‘bad’ in a deviantly good way, as some is very delicious, some is just outrageous, and then (if my mums reading this), some is of course angelic…Nice puppies… Θ)

So how can we get creative block? Just follow these simple steps…

Like we know!? Like we want it? Like we could stop it…

Haven’t suffered much myself thankfully, partly I feel because my mind is easily ruined and prone to wandering quite free, abstraction often leading it by the hand on a quest to find mischief, and partly because creativity sometimes features more than other times in your life.

Whatever the reason, you have to just roll with it when it comes.

Sometimes I look for signs which may have inspired me or which have lead me to a ‘higher plane of conscious thought’, or some other less pretentious cliché whereby you feel in the zone. But there is none.

It come’th and it go’eth as it f*cking feel’eth somedays…

It comes down to this really.

How dare your mind not do as it’s told?

Mine it appears, has sporadic outbreaks, (so I’m told). Not sure how they come about, not sure when, but if I’m lucky something will trickle down and tickle my fancy.

And give me an idea or two.

I knew one guy who used to insist on wearing nothing but ladies undercrackers and wore a trilby before he wrote anything of note. Of course he is a fictional character and something that we can always exploit when needed. The surreal, fiction, and or in some case, reality, always ever present and awaiting invitation from our minds.

There may well be a man somewhere wearing a trilby and a pair of knickers and in fact the more I think about it, there will be.

Definitely. But does he write, good question? Yes, of course he does as I mentioned that before. The devil is in the detail so I’m told.

The new trend is the Dead Celebrity thing, quite popular this last year or so from what social media would have us believe. Can’t see it catching on but what do I know.

While Keith Richards still defies science and nature it’s too tempting to think that we’ll all live forever, but until that day comes, there is hope for the rest of us mere mortals.

Seems like stopping smoking and giving up drugs will be the death of him. Probably why unlike the others who all relied on sleeping pills and medicinal drugs to ebb away when they least expected to, a full compliment of all the bad sh*t your dealer can lay hands on, pumped vigourously into his system 24 hours a day is the key to his longevity.

Prince was this year’s shock. A true musical genius, versatile, powerful, and looked great in Purple.

Not a word from the Queen either.

I always knew she was a hard bitch.

All that waving to strangers has turned her into an emotional void. She’s like a pale shrunken version of a fairytale Elvira, heartless through and through. Those Corgi’s just remind me of Mr.Burns from the Simpsons when he threatens to release the hounds.

Runs in the family too, all those beheadings and suspicious French motor ‘accidents’ turn you that way after a while I suppose.

I don’t suppose Fergie helped either, ever since she left the Black Eyed Peas Will I.AM and HAR.R.1E have never been the same.

That’s Royals for you though. Thankfully they must have gagged Prince Andrew because you rarely see that useless scrounger much these days. All those Theatre productions and no tights, and not that it matters being gay’s much more common these days but I feel ‘we’ the public would like to know one way or another as the debate never seems to end.

It will be a sad day for the treasury when the old dear pops it. Boy will those f*ckers suddenly earn their wages..

Commemorative EVERYTHING’s.

It’ll be like Jesus rising from the dead – Queen on a rope, inflatable Queens, a million different stamp collections and of course the freshly revitalised Royalist fanfare all scrambling desperately for their 15 minutes of fame.

It will literally be like the worlds gone mad.

Who can write the best Eulogy, who can narrate the best Royal anecdote, and who’s got the biggest royal joke… Even people who can’t stand them will be rushing out to top up their fake tears and gleefully recount how there’ll never be another just like… What’s her name? Ah yes, Elizabeth, I only know because I have a few coins from the UK still scattered about the house otherwise you just tend to know her as Queenie, or the Queen, or Ma’am I suppose.

Personally I have her down as Liz, only when we text each other or she emails me obviously, you know we keep it low key.

When we first exchanged details back in the day, I had her down as ‘the Queen’ but this only led to confusion if Elton John or Freddie Mercury were to call, so to make it easy I just changed them all.

Now if Liz, Kermit or Nancy ring I know who’s who. Sadly, Kermit is no longer with us but I did take the liberty to upgrade Kermit, back to Kermit. Slight oversight at the time when I renamed Freddie. (lol)…

But you know what, I bet if Prince were alive on the day, he’d say a few nice words for the old battleaxe. Probably bang out a tune or two as well…

To be fair to Prince Charles though, he must have the patience of a god damned Saint not to have pushed her off the royal balcony for so long. Watching his legacy crawl further away from his grasp as each new year passes. Tragic. But funny.

Still, it’s not like he went mad or anything obvious at least… Prince Philip setting the bar quite high in all fairness with the crazy stakes, bless him so you’d have to go some to top that lunatic.

He’s like our own Royal Donald Trump. We should parachute him into troubled parts of the world with an endless supply of buckshot… There’s no nationality he can’t sort out with a blunderbuss and a foghorn.

If Ethnic cleansing were a household brand, you can guarantee it’d have his face on the logo…

If Royals have taught us anything, it’s that if you can get away with it for long enough then you’re clearly doing something right for people not to hang you in the streets or part your head from your shoulders like the French used to do.

Back then the French had backbone.

Back in the UK they go and vote in Bin Laden as Mayor of London and everyone’s losing their sh*t. His first act was to outlaw Pork and introduce a new freshly minted Popadum as currency whilst declaring the M25 be converted to Europe’s largest Mosque and Big Ben face East.

Well, he might as well have from how people are carrying on. I saw a great piece covering everyone most hated internet troll, Katie Watkins and how she said she’d streak through London with a Sausage up her bottom if he the current Mayor was voted in.

I’m not saying that’s what swung the vote in his favour, but you can only look at the evidence before you.

I hope it’s one of those huge German sausages too. Hopefully shut her up for a while at the very least. Seems she’s not only intent on grabbing the headlines at any cost but she tries to put us off the humble sausage as well, the bitch is relentless.

In keeping with everyone’s stereotypical racial hatred, fuelled by the ‘now’ imminent Terrorist threat induced by this Politically correct nonsense, I suppose it only fair that the unfortunate sausage be one rigged to blow. A nice touch would be the Mayor flicking the switch…

Lighten up people. If anyone wants to stand up for London and take that job on board, good luck, the fact that he’s a Muslim or a Buddhist, or a Christian should make no difference whatsoever.

Across the pond, people are voting in droves for Donald Trump so put this sh*t into perspective for God’s sake!!!

The fact he got Katie Watkins to feel the need to stick a sausage up her bottom is one more reason to like the guy!


That’s kudos…


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