I think I might be sick. In fact I just burped up some bile. I'm feeling so hungover today that I might have to have a drink as nothing else seems to be making feel any better.Things got off to a bad start this morning. Well I say morning but in fact it was 12.48 when the maid entered my hotel room. I dunno who got the biggest fright. Me at being woken by a small black Geordie with blue glasses, or her at seeing me lying naked, sideways across my bed.
She quickly shut the door. Apologised from the other side and reminded me that check out is 12 noon. A wave of panic overtook. I've missed my train and will probably be charged for another night in the hotel. Oh and I am seriously ill.
To be honest I felt so rough I didn't really have time to contemplate the immediate impact of my inability to wake up to 2 alarms!
I showered, packed and vacated the room in about 10 blurry minutes and sneaked out of the hotel side door before the receptionist knew I was gone. Dragged my now sweating body up what could only be described as a cliff face from the Quayside to the main road in the centre of Newcastle. I checked out the position of the train line from the viaduct and trekked off to the station...........in the wrong direction!
After about 10 minutes my case was getting heavier and heavier. Felt like I had a senior citizen joy riding on it cos she'd missed her shop mobility bus. I stopped outside a derelict chip shop and asked directions from a weeble in one of those fluorescent safety coats. He pointed back the way I'd just come and all I could say was 'Fuck'. The weeble grinned and walked off as I looked at the journey ahead. I feel like crying now.
The noise of my trolley wheels on the cobbles was drilling into my fragile and sweating head. What is it with fucking cobbles! Tarmac the lot of it I say.
20 minutes later I've oozed about 3 pints of stale Stella and reached the station. I've missed my scheduled train so have to purchase another one at full fare. Then I notice a London train on Platform 4. Leaving in 1 minute FFS. With my last ounce of energy I clamber over the bridge and nosedive onto the train just as the doors are shutting. An old man in top to toe green corduroy helps me to my feet as his munchkin of a wife looks at me disapprovingly. She can probably smell the aroma of last night's lager that's dampened my t shirt.
The train was boiling hot as per usual and after 3 coffee's and a Breakfast Ciabatta, that looked like a festering foot, I was still sweating. Waves of nausea kept coming and going. It was particularly bad around Doncaster. I was forced to brave the electronic sliding door toilet. I kept my gaze fixed on the flashing 'locked' sign as I pebble dashed the ceramic. Deed done and stood up to pull pants up. The frigging door starts opening and the old munchkin lady is stood there looking at my arse!
I fumble with my pants, press the lock button again and as I apologise to the munchkin my chewing gum flies out and hits her on the cheek
I'm never drinking ever again.....................
