Tuesday, 21 December 2010

The Journey's Shit, It's the Destination That Counts... 6

I burst out crying.

I fucking knew something like this was going to happen and there it was in giant letters above my head 'CANCELLED'. (Mine was the only one as well, typical.) I was going to have to ring the family and tell them that I had snuck off to London without mentioning it and was now stuck. There would be nobody to look after their children all week, they would be furious, I would be fired and also have to go back another time and get all my stuff and it would be AWFUL.

I'm so glad Kat was there, she went off to find someone. While she was away the American couple behind that we had been chatting to tried to ask me something but I was doing that talking/choking/crying thing and they were so embarrassed they stopped talking halfway through a sentence and looked away.

Kat came back and told me that they were going to put people on the next available train, because it was the company's fault. I managed to stop myself crying and I Bucked Up My Ideas. I was positive: So I was going to get on a train was I? Well, OK then. I even had enough positive energy to start a fight with a German couple who cut in front. He was so sarcastic I wanted to spit in his eyeballs but I figured they’d be looking for any excuse to stop people getting on the train and violently assaulting someone was probably reason enough. Here’s the Cunt Couple anyway, if you ever recognise the backs of these heads, give them a slap for me and Kat:








We were in the queue for two and a half hours, but it really didn’t feel like that. Me and Kat took it in turns listening to her IPod and I think because it wasn’t that long ago that we were raving and the experience was still fresh, it felt like we were in an actual club by ourselves when you put both headphones in. I started moving my hands in a ravey way, just for a bit of a ‘laugh’ and a ‘joke’ but before I knew it, I was full on dancing in the queue, for ages and ages. It was the second best silent disco I have ever been a part of. If you're getting the Eurostar this week, might I suggest:




The dancing really helped (I remember saying to Kat: “I’ve been queuing for two hours, I’m going to have a FUCKING dance!”) and also it helped that I don’t think we were completely sober, but it soon started to get cold, very, very, very cold. I completely fucked up Kat’s day but I’m so glad she waited for me, it would have been awful if I’d been stood there by myself.

After two and a half hours, I finally got to the check-in for the Eurostar. They were just putting random coloured stickers on everyone’s tickets and whatever colour you got was the train you got on. (It was really annoying because this Twatty French Man that pushed in about two hours in got the same coloured ticket as me and he ended up sat near me and I heard him say to someone that his train wasn’t even supposed to depart until half four.)

Once I got into the departure lounge, I was fine. I knew I was going to get on a train, I just didn’t know when. In the end I think I got on the train at about 7pm, I can’t even remember.

The journey that is supposed to take two hours took about three and half, which isn’t too bad. I listened to my IPod and had a bit of a rave in my seat, read a bit of my book, had a little snooze, then got up and bought a cup of tea. When I was walking through the train looking for tea everyone was staring at me and I was getting really paranoid until I remembered my dress was caked in mood and my face looked like a child’s drawing of a ‘drunk person’.

Finally, finally, we arrived at Gare du Nord at half eleven, six and a half hours later than I’d planned. Ah, the best laid plans of mice and mongs…

I got on Line 1 and sat there, feeling very Freaked Out that only the day before I’d been doing exactly the same thing, wondering if I was ever going to make it to London and if I’d ever make it back. And here I was, back.

I got into my little room at exactly midnight. You're always safe if you get home by the strike of twelve. I had a mince pie and a tiny cup of M&S tea because I only had a drop of milk left and I logged onto Facebook straight away because I’m a Slave to the Modern World and I can’t help it.

I uploaded photos and looked through them as if they belonged to somebody else. Had that weekend really happened? Was that really me looking at the Tube map, not the metro map? Did I really feel the crunch of snow under my boots as I walked to Earl’s Court? Did I really speak to my mum in England? Was I really in Marks and Spencers at Clapham Junction, buying mince pies? Was that me in the car park, telling strangers I liked their glitter? Was I even in that place, at that time?

Don’t you think life is strange?

The stress and the hassle are nothing compared to the level of pure blissful enjoyment I experienced, so the only lesson I have learnt from this whole fiasco is that is where there's a Rave there's a Risk and it always pays off.

I spoke to someone on Facebook who knew someone else who travelled to London from Paris on Saturday to see Deadmau5. She said that her friend didn't think it was worth it and that they got back to Paris at about 2am, instead of 4pm.

So I was, as Chaz and Lucy always complain, 'jammy'. (Even though it seems like I always fuck up and everything goes wrong, it actually never goes as wrong as it should, TOUCH WOOD PLEASE GOD DON'T JINX ME.)

The only hair in the soup now is that on Thursday, I have to do it ALL AGAIN. But for now, I'm not thinking about it. So what if I only have twenty minutes to get the last train to Manchester and the Eurostar website is advising that I will have to wait for 'more than three hours'? I'm 'jammy' apparently, it will be fine. And if it's not fine, it will be funny. And if it's not fine or funny and it's shit shit shit then before you know it, the time will pass and I'll be sat on my bed again, maybe in new Christmas pjyamas, and I'll be writing about that time I was sat here writing about how one day I'd be sat here writing about how I was sat here writing about how... life is just a big circle isn't it? In fact according to my hero, 'like a hoop that never ends'. (Name that tune.)

Nothing is permanant, so don't worry! And if you do worry, you don't even have to worry too much about the things you are worried about happening- all the things that I was worried would happen at the weekend happened and it was still Amazing.

I realise I sound like my mum now, who is always chanting Feel The Fear And Do It Anyway because she flicked through the book once. But there's a difference between Fear and Worry. If you are worried you might miss your train, do it. If you are in fear for your limbs, maybe give it a miss.

Desptie all that, the motto of the weekend is: If you are worried, do it anyway. It will be worth it.






2 comments:

  1. It is I once more, your anonymous reader, ploughing on with your blog.

    I broke up with my boyfriend today, and was feeling horrendously shit, and thought "I'll read that au pairs blog coz its quite amusing and she seems to be a similar sort of person and it might cheer me up or at least I can read about her crap restaurant job and feel a bit better" (yeah soz for that mean thought).

    Anyway, I was reading away about your dramatic journey and then I read this:
    "Nothing is permanant, so don't worry! And if you do worry, you don't even have to worry too much about the things you are worried about happening- all the things that I was worried would happen at the weekend happened and it was still Amazing."

    And I just wanted to say thanks for writing that. Its just what I needed to read.

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  2. Wow thank you for reading and thank you so much for commenting, I am so pleased my ramblings actually helped cheer somebody up!

    Don't worry about using my Crap Life to make yourself feel better, lots and lots of people do it, I don't mind! Almost gives a purpose to my Shit Waitressing Job...

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