by InkMan » Tue Dec 21, 2010 10:51 am
A question that is often asked is what is happiness? To some it is close friends, for some the company of family, others it may be the smile of a newborn child, many will say the joy of Christmas and the poets amongst us would even say that true happiness is taking lyrical inspiration from a fleeting glimpse of an effervescent willo-the-wisp glowing briefly, yet resplendent, atop the very first dew of spring.
Conversely earlier today I experienced the paradox of happiness when I arrived at Crossmyloof train station to be greeted by the announcement that the scheduled train to East Kilbride was cancelled. My disappointment of having to wait half and hour for the next service was heightened by the sight of the cause of the aforementioned delay which was a train stuck on the track some hundred yards or so from my glance. Not only that but it became quickly apparent that said train had been lay sadly redundant for some time thus bringing into question the prospect of the next train to my eagerly awaited destination into quite some considerable doubt.
Facing this situation with admirable bravery I decided to walk to hail a bus at the Victoria Infirmary only to be slowed by what can be justifiably described as quite astoundingly nauseating stomach craps attributed to the copious amount of coffee I drank during my nightshift. Still the sickness and pain was soothed by the freezing temperature and my subsequent slip and fall as I passed the Battlefield monument.
The bus journey, both slow and without heating, has put another layer of icing on a journey that should have taken half an hour but now sees me sending this epistle at half past ten when I should be cosy and snug in bed.
Sorry to go off on one but I thought it best that I share my story with someone. Please feel free to respond with sympathy.
ScotRail are c*unts as are FirstBus even though this has nothing to do with them - or this thread probably.
Hope all your days have started better than mine has just ended.
Shuggy
Cleggy you snickering floppy eared hound when courage is needed, you're ne'er around.
Those medals you wear on your moth-eaten chest should be there for bungling at which you are best.
