What Time Is It?

Flava Flave is a legend. But I wasn't impressed with what time it was! Yeah Boooiii. Even though I have Buddhist tendencies, if I had the S1W's in tow some homie would have got a cap in da ass.

The day was fine although I was chasing my tail all through it. I had a meeting at 6.30pm and spent quite a bit of time beforehand speaking to my mate Claire about her Ph.D. Very impressed because she's gone from being academically naive to sounding almost ready to defend her shit in viva! I love seeing people 'grow'.

My meeting was with a rider and I enjoyed that. I wish I could write a bit about him but client confidentiality prevents me....but I was impressed with some of his numbers. Then the comedy of errors began. I had decided to get the train home as my knee felt a bit off and the light was closing in. I pottered in the office for 10 mins and then realised....gahhh...no wallet. I left it at home this morning. I cobbled together 90p from my drawer and desk but still a pound short. I emptied my change mug of 100 pennie pieces....sorted. Reception was nice and swapped them for a shiny gold coin. Just enough time to catch the train.

Ohhh no....bloody Man Utd had their victory celebration and the train was so full, event an ant would have struggled to get on. I had a bike. Bloody goon like heathen chimpanzees, I thought.....just as this kid on a BMX who had also failed to embark shouted "c**ts" just as the doors shut. "I hate f**king football" we both said in unison. With an hour until the next train, we both decided to head to Piccadilly to wait. His mates were over the other side of the platform. One of the guy's bike's, a street BMX, looked bling.....I heard the rear hub spin. Beautiful... "What's that hub?" I asked. It was a Profile Racing titanium hub with 240 engagement points...wow.

Piccadilly was a nightmare. A red army of pissed up tossers who didn't even look that happy. I went to get a ticket for the train and the machine said £3.70....shit, the cheap saver ends at 9.30pm. I only had £1.90. Fortunately, the guy in the ticket office agreed to sell me a ticket for what I had. Police had corralled fans off the train platform and the queue was massive, even with over 30mins to departure. I snuck round the backway, went down on the lift and managed to get past the police and railway staff to gain access to my platform

"You can't wait there" an platform attendant said..."so I've got to wait with these Neanderthal f**ckwits and potentially not get on the next train too" I said having lost my temper. It would mean getting home around 11.30 despite me starting the short journey home at 8.30pm. I was pissed, big time. Then, a miracle.... a member of network rail changed his mind and even got the train driver to open the train doors for me. Taking advantage, I shouted on the BMX lad who jumped on too, with the doors being locked behind us. 20 more minutes of peace until the footie fans were allowed on. Red faced, beer bellied, pasty faced hoards they were. Not a fun journey.