Start a love-train, love-train.

I’m a big public transport user, in fact I’d say that I’ve spent weeks of my life sat on the bus waiting for someone to shoot me. Many an unhappy hour has been wasted sat next to yobs drinking special brew, chanting about football or getting laid. Suffice to say it’s always a less than pleasant experience: the number of times I’ve muttered “what a wanker” under my breath probably amounts to something in the triple figures. 

That is until today. Approximately twenty-six minutes ago I made my first step into becoming Kate Middleton and booked myself a first class train ticket. No longer will I have to wonder what’s behind those glass doors, I finally get to experience how the other half live. Perhaps a serving of champagne on my Sunday evening trip? Waiters wearing bow-ties who call me ma’am? Travel information served upon a silver platter? No longer will the cries of screaming children haunt me whilst I desperately attempt to turn up the volume on my i-pod. I’m joining the big leagues baby: terms and conditions may apply.


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