ticketed

Well that certainly is an interesting way to eat an apple. I can tell you, that while you are munching away in that most peculiar of fashions, I am sitting here, opposite you on the train, thanking god for my iPod, headphones, volume control and Stevie Wonder, all individually. Perhaps you are just biting off pieces of the the apple in a hapless attempt at politeness? Yet it looks like you could inhale the entire apple in one mouthful, so why not give me something worth looking at? Go on, I dare you.

Evidently I’m in a joyous mood when I’m commuting home. I guess I just wasn’t cut out for the hazards of British public transport.

Other items of great joy; I feel like the right honourable Bridget Jones, quizzed by the elders of her tribe “why are their so many single women in their 30s?” Hold on! Yes, I know, I’m not yet 30, but I am well and truly single.  It has dawned on me, and those around me that for some time now, there has been no sign of a significant other. One elder took it upon herself to advise me that “it really is about time you found yourself a nice young man”. Which of course is splendid advice, but it needs further instruction. Perhaps you could elude to where I might start looking, or tell me where those with personality defects and bad shoes aren’t hanging out?

Another moment of pure genius: yesterday I paid for a week’s worth of parking at the train station, today I forgot to  put the ticket in the window. So now I’m sat at work wallowing in my idiocy. I will no doubt have the joyous task of writing to the council and asking them in the sweetest ink on paper tone of voice to revoke the fine, because, and I’ll apologise profusely for this, I am a little brain dead.