Shoot 'em all
Monday, April 4th, 2005 12:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
caddymanI had intended to write a short round up of the week away here, but instead, I am annoyed by the rail system. Again.
Now, I'm all for a bit of solidarity now and again, but right now, having spent from 15.25 to 21.05 getting back from Shrewsbury to London - a distance of about 150 miles as I've mentioned before, I declare a pox on all members of ASLEF, and upon their children and their offspring unto the seventh generation. That bunch of overpaid and under performing pratts has done more to make my life miserable over the past twenty years than any other group, be they overland rail workers or tube drivers.
I don't expect much from life, but when I fork out £47-odd on a train fare, I really rather expect to be able to get where I'm going in a reasonable time. And twenty minutes short of six hours for a 150 mile journey just don't cut it.
This is what happens when the country is run by a load of bleeding-heart do-goody good Islington whingers, whose only experience of the realities of life is based upon the decision whether or not to shop at Waitrose or Fortnum's (I know it's expensive, but we're breaking down the class system), or whether sending young Chlamydia and Andalucia to dance lessons is the thing to be done, when Sudanese beehives are in decline, or whether young Sechevrold or Waldemar really needs a gap year to train Andean Yak Herders to make nylon fishing nets.
Pah.
A pox on them all.
Now, I'm all for a bit of solidarity now and again, but right now, having spent from 15.25 to 21.05 getting back from Shrewsbury to London - a distance of about 150 miles as I've mentioned before, I declare a pox on all members of ASLEF, and upon their children and their offspring unto the seventh generation. That bunch of overpaid and under performing pratts has done more to make my life miserable over the past twenty years than any other group, be they overland rail workers or tube drivers.
I don't expect much from life, but when I fork out £47-odd on a train fare, I really rather expect to be able to get where I'm going in a reasonable time. And twenty minutes short of six hours for a 150 mile journey just don't cut it.
This is what happens when the country is run by a load of bleeding-heart do-goody good Islington whingers, whose only experience of the realities of life is based upon the decision whether or not to shop at Waitrose or Fortnum's (I know it's expensive, but we're breaking down the class system), or whether sending young Chlamydia and Andalucia to dance lessons is the thing to be done, when Sudanese beehives are in decline, or whether young Sechevrold or Waldemar really needs a gap year to train Andean Yak Herders to make nylon fishing nets.
Pah.
A pox on them all.