Saturday, 6 March 2010

The Last Train

Trains are a way of life here. The morning train to work's as quiet as the grave; crowded as hell, but no-one says a word and everyone goes to great pains to avoid eye-contact. At night though, things are more lively after a few sherberts.

The trains stop around midnight and don't start again till 5am or 6am, so if you miss the last train you have a few choices; drink till morning, crash in a capsule or other cheap hotel/sauna, go to an internet cafe and sleep in the cubicle, go to a karaoke room till the trains start again, or get an expensive-as-hell taxi home.

The last option being the least preferred, if you decide to rush for the last train home, you'll often see guys like this who really should have taking one of the other options.


  1. No matter how spannered he wasn't letting go of that brolly!

  2. Well spotted sir! Brollies and bikes are generally the only things that get stolen here. You can lose a wallet full of cash or a laptop bag, and you'll get everything back... take your eye off your brolley though and it's gone!

  3. What I'd like to know is how many photos of you sir are posted across the InterWeb in a similar state (with out brolly of course - your more of a mac man). Could this be a case of the pot calling the kettle black?

  4. Nah, I usually prefer the first-train home in the morning. The trick though is staying awake for my stop. Saturday and Sunday mornings are like a Newton's Cradle: First off I sleep/drool right to the other end of the line, then double-back about 80% of the way to where I started, then a few more trips back and for getting closer and closer before finally having to stand up and sing Tom Jones songs to keep me awake for the right stop. (goes down a treat!?)