Do you know what really grinds my gears? Trains. Tickets cost a fortune, they´re never on time, and it´s impossible to get a seat. As I´m soon to become a father, I will be joining the ´Can I squeeze my pram onto the already jam packed carriage please´ club. In light of this, I have decided to submit a complaint to the network provider, in hope they will listen to my thought out ´suggestions´.
To whoever is apparently ‘running’ northern rail.
I apologize if this email disturbs you from sitting on your golden toilet, wiping your arse with commuter’s hard earned £10 notes. I assume it’s not even an eco-friendly one sheet wipe, but many, many plies to clean your incapable fat behind. I picture you as a rather large man, maybe sporting a moustache, with an extremely talented grasp of Candy crush and angry birds. After all, what else are you doing with your day?
I don’t honestly know how to get your attention, as I suppose you receive countless complaints a day. However, as my mother has always taught me God does love a trier, and you should never piss someone off who bleeds for 5 days, every month, and doesn’t die.
So here we go…
Mr Northern Rail, have you ever seen a train? A train is a wonderful thing, a beautiful timeless method of transport to be enjoyed by all. The Hogwarts Express for example.
Now, I don’t expect to be greeted by a blossoming Hermione or even a magical world, but just a seat. Yes, somewhere to perch while I breathe in the smell of piss for 80 minutes a day.
At £906 a year, that would be wonderful. The novelty of pressing up against an unwashed morbidly obese man has now worn off.
Ok, so I have expressed my concern about our seating arrangement. Now please explain to me if you’ve ever heard of the commonly used word ‘time’. Time is a wonderful thing, ever ticking by, so (reasonably) hard working people like myself enjoy to get home each night at a judiscious hour. I understand you have to trawl through the strange, dark depths of Yorkshire, attempting to converse with a complete lack of syllables (example below) but punctuality is key to a healthy relationship.
A Yorkshireman’s dog dies and as it was a favourite pet he decides to have a gold statue made by a jeweller to remember the dog by.
Yorkshireman: “Can tha mek us a gold statue of yon dog?”
Jeweller: “Do you want it 18 carat?”
Yorkshireman: “No I want it chewin’ a bone, yer daft begger!”
I won’t lie to you Mr Rail, getting to work doesn’t bother me so much, I can handle being a little late. Although when its Monday Shepherd’s Pie night and I’m still sat wearily in the station with an empty wallet and a hangover, we then have a problem. Very recently over the tannoy, the announcement was raised. ‘SERVICE CANCELLED DUE TO LACK OF DRIVERS’.
Now, I’m no expert, but I assume you have a backup plan if Trevor has had a bad curry and can’t make it in? The whole service shouldn’t really spiral into anarchy forcing me to board a bus with several spotty school-children spitting ‘lit bars’ and talking about the ‘reefa’.
So as a service provider you surely proud yourselves on ‘comfort’ and ‘punctuality’, both of which you suck at harder than that poor girl caught on camera in Magaluf. If you’re not aware of the story, it’s a corker. She was basically on a bar crawl, and the DJ promised ‘whoever gives oral sex to the most men’ will win a free trip to Ibiza. This poor girl went for, all in. Onlookers were heard saying that ´she could suck a golf ball through a hose pipe from 300 yards´. Deservedly she prevailed victorious, only to find out ‘Ibiza’ was a restaurant next door… You couldn’t make it up.
I would like to applaud you on the safety and efficiency of your service, however the last time I was on the MCR route, a carriage set on fire leaving us stranded in Moston of all places. I was mugged, groomed, tattooed and led astray within minutes. I´ve since become a professional ´roadman´, wearing only tracksuits and those jackets with the goggles in the hood.
Please ask one of your many butlers to respond to this. I expect a full written apology, with illustrated pictures and passionate flare… oh and one of them travels neck pillows you can buy on planes.
I would appreciate it if you addressed me as ‘the cul dawg’. My alter ego is apparently much more likeable.
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