I've been aknowledged in an accidemic paper..

You're fucking lucky you got anything out of me last night.

I just had the worst train journey of my life.

It's when you get on the train and sit down and try to read the free magazine put can't because your head is all fuzzy. But you need something to take your mind off that odd throbbing in your right kidney so you stare blankly at the pictures for a bit.

Then you can here someone tapping their feet loudly and you realise your tapping your feet. But the sounds doesn't always match when yours hit the floor. The volume seems to vary greatly. Then you realise theirs someone else tapping their feet as well. The randomness is a bit to trippy for comfort.

You decide to retreat into your cotton wool like mind but there's still an edge there. Something remaining of the room swirliness and weird time distortion that had seemed so ace at 7.30 am, but now just the memory off makes you feel like you could vomit. But of course you can't. You always believed you could live off nothing but Guinness. You were wrong.

Searching back through the past two days reveals memories of half a BLT, a packet of crisps and some sandwich ham on dry toast. You regret turning down this mornings pizza breakfast, but know you couldn't have eaten it anyway.

You consider the buffet kiosk. There's just three things working against you: The little old lady who just got on at Bath and obviously thought the unwashed, same clothed for three days chap staring blankly into nothingness would be a jolly nice person to sit next to. You don't know which end of the train it's on. 50/50 which way up the train do you go. The reality of walking the narrow aisle on a rocking train seals it.

It's this third reality that brings a terrifying glimpse of the future. Negotiating through the Town Centre with out passing out. Taxi it is. Again. As you approach Swindon you start to prey that the little old lady gets up so you can get out. Any sort of vocal communication that you are going to need her to move doesn't seem to be an ability you possess any more. Luckily there is a god. Grandma gets up with the aid of the chair in front.

Just the obstacles of the steps down from the platform and the ticket barrier to negotiate. Then Mr. friendly taxi driver. "Kent Road, Old Town please mate". In you get and off you go home.

I let the taxi driver keep his 70p change. He was my favourite person in the world then. Remember kids. Drugs are not your friend. Especially ones you've never tried when you've got to negotiate the rail system the next day.