Never try and catch a train on April Fool's Day

I love trains, sometimes. I love my laptop. Bring them together and we have the makings of ultimate contentedness. When I decided last night to write a blog entry whilst killing time on the way to nowhere, I thought it would be primarily about that odd and weird day that was yesterday, and the odd and weird night that was last night, but I just thought I’d give you a little image of me on April Fool’s Day. I always knew that getting up this morning was going to be painful, so the carpet tongue and dehydration came as no surprise. Jen will testify that I was incapable of speech and comprehension, but such is life. Such is April Fool’s Day. So, after wandering around for a little while, giving books back to the library, getting accidentally attached to the stream of toilet paper at the bottom of the stairs (thank you drunken ego), I hoisted my bag on my back, had the ‘oh, it’s not that heavy thought’ and got to the bottom of the stairs and said goodbye to Spanna Spanol. The bags were getting heavier all the time. Then I staggered off into the distance. I got on the tube, all happy until I get to Liverpool Street and discover that the Circle Line is properly buggered. At this point, the bag is definitely feeling heavy. Have to stagger off and re-discover the Central Line to get to Paddington in a different way. Not happy. The tube is packed; I have to be squashed on by some kindly Londoners. Of course, it takes forever. Why does everything conspire to make me late? However early I leave, the journey has to be stressful and delayed. After being thoroughly pissed off by the tubes, I still manage to get to Paddington on time. I queue to buy a ticket. The queue is scarily long. When my turn finally comes, a little number nine pops up to tell me which person to buy my ticket off. Accept, not wearing glasses I can’t find them. The heaviness of the bag, the dehydration of the alcohol from last night is beginning to kick in. Several smirky people have to point out the server to me. It gets better. After forking out thirty squid for a ticket, which, by the way hasn’t been checked yet, and I doubt it will be (it never was), I wander off to WH Smith to buy food and a newspaper…mmm…Saturday newspaper.
This is where it gets really good. The heavy bag – a laptop bag on by front, and enormous bag on my back, I’m picking up newspapers, food, water, crisps. Ego rings. He’s drunk. I blame him. I think alcohol can travel down the phone. I’m moving towards the front of the line. Everything I’m buying is balanced half on bag, half in one hand, the other hand holding the phone to my ear. As I move in the queue the sandwich and crisps start to slide further and further towards the edge of the bag, out of my control. So I lean slightly forward, attempting to rest them on a display of crisps. I’m not entirely sure what happens next. I’ll remind you at this point I’m wearing my flimsy green dress/skirt. So, the weight of the bags, as I bend slight to put down the supplies, unbalances me, and I end up, very rapidly on my arse in the middle of the queue. I am sat, legs spread-eagled, weighed down by bags. There was audible laughter. Ego: Why are those people laughing? Lucy:Um...I'm going to have to phone you back. I attempt to get up. This proves just about impossible. The weight of my bags means that when I attempt to use my limbs to lever me off the floor, in a swift and elegant manner, they flail uselessly, leaving my torso pinned to floor by revision notes and laptop. I look behind me, where the whole queue for people buying food and newspapers in Paddington station is watching me. I suggest they go ahead of me. The woman behinds me points out, fairly, that me, spread-eagled on the floor, surrounded by bags, is such an obstruction, she can’t actually get past me to pay. Somehow, I have no idea how, I manage to get up, and pay, in front of the queue who have just seen me on my arse, swearing the whole way. The irony being I’ve left water and crisps behind somewhere. I don’t look, but merely pay for the newspaper and sandwich and leave in shame and hilarity.