Snakes on a Tube

Ok, is it me or is the whole "Snakes on a plane" thing just the most ridiculous concept or what? It just goes to show how Hollywood hype can infect every sane thought you ever had, making you believe that even Gwynneth Paltrow might have an interesting opinion and it might be a nice idea to go visit the movie house and part with 12 quids to see some period rubbish with her in it only to realize that the best screen moment she ever had was when her dismembered head appeared in 12 monkeys. or was it seven? or did I ever bother to even see.. whatever....

But enough of that malarky.

What I really wanted to muse on this fine Saturday evening, whilst my chicken is a roastin' (no cottage, I think I have finally managed to give that one up) and the beans (bunnies) are a boilin', is about what ticks me off when I catch the tube.

Now having left Melbourne but a mere 2.5 months ago, gloriously putting crap public transport and a totally f***ed up banking system behind me, I have been generally impressed with the tube experience, being thrust down a dark hole squashed up next to total strangers, frotting hotly in their Zara work combo's.

So what the sweet fark is it about Victoria station? This is my place of work and every day I must sidestep every goddamned special with their cheap luggage with wheels as they amble towards the Gatwick express counter in a scene reminiscent of dawn of the dead.

The other day, I was dawdling my way to work, my iPod firmly in my ears iBlocking the iDin, and, upon arriving at said station of hell, Duran Duran's Hungry Like the Wolf announced itself with that characteristic little "ha ha!" Bless, it was just the right thing at just the right time to lift my mood. I even thought about scratching some slowpoke tourist across the face for the hell of it. But I wouldn't want to ruin my new manicure, would I?

Thank you Duran Duran, I will always love you the most.

Now why am I sitting here on a Saturday night?