10.02.2010 - 11:23 a.m.

This moan is brought to you by the letters T, R, A, I and N and the number 5, with special mention for London Midland railways, the pissiest of piss poor operators.

I thought it would be a nice idea to visit my mate in brighton who i�ve not seen in a long time, train down saturday, train back sunday, and squeeze a psytrance night in between, magic.

Because I�m just not that lucky, pretty much everything that could go wrong did (and will now be designated by numbers in brackets), I was due to get a train with one change (in croydon) so we all waited patiently on platform 4 as advised by the tv screens, (1) only to see the croydon train pull into platform 2 and then fuck off again in fairly short order. Several of us went to the ticket office who told us there was nothing he could do and we could wait an hour for the next train or jump on a euston train leaving in three minutes.

So we arrived at euston who informed me they can�t give out underground tickets (which would be the shortest route) and I should take the overground route (2) and aren�t i a stupid twat for getting on the wrong train, as I was surrounded by transport police I refrained from telling the fat cunt exactly what I thought of him (or shooting him in the face with the handgun I don�t own, which he sorely deserved) and precisely where he could stuff his ignorant, lazy, ugly (so very ugly) head and got on the train which took me to another station where I caught another train which took me to another station where I could pick up a train to croydon.

The croydon train managed two stations before we ground to a halt (3) outside chelsea harbour just as the light was fading, �we regret to inform you that due to a broken train ahead of us we�ll have a delay� after a long while we start moving again and one station before croydon we stop (4) and he announces �due to the late running of this train it�s now not going to croydon, it will now turn around and head back north, everybody off�

So now I�m waiting at selhurst for another train to croydon, and a half hour later there is one and we get to croydon (yay) and I�m in time to catch a non-stop to brighton, by this time I�m now about an hour forty five late but have had to turn off my mobile to conserve the battery, no problem, this non-stopper will be there in half an hour and I�ll find out where everyone is and stuff will be dandy.

As we fly past gatwick the brakes come on (5) and we�re informed �due to signal failures in a tunnel there�ll be a delay� and then after a half hour �I don�t know how long we�ll be here� [sigh]

We got into brighton five and a bit hours after leaving the first station (for a two and a half hour journey) and I�m starving hungry, really really hungry. When I get this hungry all other objectives or concerns are ignored until I�ve fed the machine, so I hightail it down the hill to a maccy d�s, for burger based relief. There I turn on my phone to find a million texts and voice mails, my mates have been waiting in a bar by the station, and not only that, my principle mate (now referred to as A) who I�ve come to visit has to go and see some woman he shagged inappropriately at new years because she�s now pregnant and they have to �talk�.

So we head back to his mate�s (called N) flat while A goes off to sort out the woman, me and N chat, smoke many spliffs and about midnight there�s still no sign of A so we head down to the club to discover (6) no psytrance, just the angriest of drum and bass, as neither of us fancy getting our heads kicked in we try to find another club. We spend a half hour in a club listening to progressive deep house until N gets a call from his girlfriend about a house party, we abandon the club with joy in our hearts and the prospect of finding some drugs. House party is a bit pedestrian but it�s nice enough and about twoish A finally joins us.

The house is mostly filled with twentysomethings who are quite drunk, and twentysomethings are also really gullible and will believe anything you tell them if you do it with a straight face, some girl asked my age and guessed that I was 24 (my stock answer is always 42, even though I�m 36 but can pass for 28) and her face was a picture of gormless disbelief, ah how we laughed.

About 4ish we found out about another house tiny flat party (which had decks) so ten of us arrived there just as the psytrance started, there was a hint of pills, (three for a tenner) which very quickly became much less so (one for a tenner), but as this was the only game in town we took it. For a pill it was pretty good quality, but I always get dry heaves when I come up and this time was no different (and seems to be getting worse with age), so I locked myself away until I was flying and stable.

A notable downside to loud house parties is you end up next to someone who has to shout in your face to be heard, this time it was a young swedish guy who�d arrived as a hanger-on, not really objectionable except whenever he spoke I was getting flecked with saliva and because everyone was smoking he had really bad breath, and he was trying to discuss subjects I wasn�t really in the right frame of mind to discuss.

About tenish we escaped the winding down party back to N�s flat for smoke and chill, football was on the tele and I did my best to ruin it for them (making up funny voices and backstories for the pundits, they�ll never look at them in the same light again) and came home Sunday evening. The train leaving brighton was the skankiest train I�ve ever been on, the door seals leaked so there was water all over the floor, the outside had been comprehensively graffitied and subsequently badly washed down in solvent, all the seats were worn out and the seat opposite me had what looked very much like jizz stains up it.

What followed was another three hour journey with many many changes, made all the worse for when A copied the tracks off my mp3 player onto his computer he didn�t copy and paste, he cut and pasted, unfortunately I only realised this when I sat on the train leaving brighton and turned on the mp3 player�

On the bright side J came to get me from the station and I had home made chicken curry for dinner and it was delicious and we then went to bed�

(after I�d had showers and brushed my teeth twice) even though I had a shower in brighton I still really stank, not pleasant. But on the bright side for the other train passengers, when we have a night out in london I don�t carry spare clothes or have the luxury of showers so the smell then must be is really offensive, nay, aggressive even, so I think they got off lightly.