Why does my turtle taste like chinese?

So i was waiting on Platform 13A for a train back to Pontefract, after my long afternoon in Manchester of auditioning on Saturday. I’d just edged in half an hour previous into Leeds train station, dined on noodles, and armed with a Pic n Mix for my Mother, i bought a train ticket from Leeds back to Ponty.

Drunk Wazza & Drunk Bone approach platform 13a, with an ‘OMG THAT’S CHRISSIE OFF THE TELLY!’ With a surprise, a hug, and  ‘dick,’ as a reply to my ‘what have you been up too?’ question. We bundled onto the 6pm train, (that seemed to be weirdly packed,) as Drunk Bone thundered through the isle to find us the perfect table seat, for a foursome. A foursome made up of an apparent ‘Bald Bastard, a 10ft goth, a guy who loves ginger strippers and a slag.’ I was the ‘slag.’  (Do however note that, now that i am 29, with a Glamour Puss on the way and no longer 22 with an unmanageable ego and a libido that could ware Casanova out on his best of days. I am far more wise to such foolery. Being a floozey sailed me through my twenties. Since i am to be entering my 30th year in December and with a precious ‘ovened bun.’ I’m much more ‘whole,’ settled and taken my a mixed raced ‘handsome’ who is promising to adore me forever. Just so you know. I mean, who’d thought there’d be the boy that could tame me? He actually did it through kindness and not through force. ) Proving that good guys don’t finish last! Also note, (back to our train journey) that our foursome, was currently a threesome, at this point!

Anyway yeah…incase you haven’t noticed i am finishing off a story that i failed to finish off previously. Not the last blog, but the blog before ended with such a ‘to be continued.’ [Yes take a look.] I was knackerd, exhausted, frustrated and 3lbs heavier. What i didn’t expect on my train journey was the Drunk Bone & Wazza circus! I secretly LOVED it! However, i will tell you that you know you’re in trouble when one of them not only has loose bottles of San Miguel in his rucksack, ready to  give to minors, but also a MASK. One of those cheap plastic ones, that have that tiny elasticated band on, that snaps after 4 wears. I was wedged in the corner of our train foursome table, with Wazza to my left guzzling beer like a gorilla, whilst wearing his cheap, ‘i’m a happy ghost’ mask and with Bone directly opposite me, telling me jokes about ‘black people’ and ginner strippers.

We all randomly ended up on the same train because both Wazza & Bone had just returned from Manchester also. I had been there all morning working and attempting to further myself in life.  They had been there all morning after a night out on the razzle. They had been to some concert, with another male friend, who Wazza shared a honeymoon suite with and lovingly spooned like a teddy bear all night long. (Not the prettiest sight before any meal really.)  Not sure what happened? But they ended up getting out of the concert in Manchester, getting lost, trying to find this (as they say) ‘right ace club,’ but ending up in some really rubbish, and dingey shit strip club. (That was apparently full of scousers.)

Long story short…Wazza described the quality of girl they found during their adventure, by informing me that in order to *woo* him, one of the young beauties told him that she ‘had a really sweaty back and he should touch it.’ Bone was apparently on a desperate hunt for a stripper, who was a real life ginger. He’s currently obsessed with them and needs to find one. I believe he stopped a random lovely on a dark Manchester street, after glancing at her roots to ask if she was a ginner? The answer he got was ‘FUCK no.‘ Says it all really. 🙂 Pete shags ginners. We had a whole argument over it the other day. I like gingers. But just not when Pete bonked them in the past.

They later found themselves in a shit kareoke bar, where Wazza decided to sing his old favourite kareoke song ‘Boom Shake the Room.’ It’s a juicy piece of soft rap melody. The strippers had also found themselves in the same kareoke bar, after their long night of ‘ooh laa’ and whilst Wazza serenaded them with cheesy old school hip hop, they lifted up their shirts, revealing nothing but their pastey bare boobs, whilst screaming his name in unison. ‘Waaazzza! Waaaazzzza!’ Who said romance was dead! (Infact, i don’t know how much of this could’ve been a drunkenillusion? But Bone assures me it was true. He was infact the story teller on our train journey. The story was told very drunkenly and very loud, and with San Miguel.)

So, I’m crammed into the corner. Wazza is the only person i let *cram* me into any corner. I’m Chrissie Wunna, i don’t get *crammed* i get worshipped. Well i do get *crammed,* but it usually ends with Loverboy, doing some kind of odd boy moan and sex face, before a tissue wipe down. You’d think he’d be satisfied with the *cramming* now he’s planted a Glamour Puss inside of me. But no…there’s no rest for the dear old sauce pot. I’ll have to get a whip and actually beat him away with it…fuck getting kinky, I’ll need to use it as an actual weapon. If i’m honest we’re actually quite chilled in the bedroom now because we’re quite satisfied with what we’ve achieved. Plus, we don’t technically have our own bedroom, which obviously makes *pumpy* hard.

Anyway, were on this tiny ricketty train, crammed at this table, with a story to tell and like the racist jokes weren’t enough, Bone looks to our left and sees a lovely looking 6ft 7 goth. I actually saw this 6ft 7 goth on the platform and was amazed by his bravery and his jacket that made him look like a superhero. It was sort of like a cape jacket. he had whited out his face, and coloured in black bat like features around his eyes. A proper goth. But 6ft 7. There’s no messing with him! 🙂

Bone, out of sheer interest, begins a conversation with Ben the 6ft 7 Goth, from Knottingley. I always get weary when the boys start convos with others, when drunk, incanse it ends in some kind of accidental fight of fisticuffage. Anyway turns out ben the 6ft 7 Goth, was actually ACE! Well maybe a little weary at first, he must be used to people being uneccessarily evil to him, because when Bone first approached him with a bit of a chatteroo, he had his guard up fully.

4 minutes later…and because we’re all highly social, Ben the 6ft 7 Goth, fromKnottingley, was now also CRAMMED on our train table, laughing, joking and being asked if he was a ginner? Bone had labelled him ‘Long legs’ after Wazza pointed out that he had the longest legs he had ever seen. Ben loved it. I loved Ben. Therefore in a moment of sheer merriment Wazza reached into his rucksack and popped him open a bottle of San Miguel. Which Ben guzzled down like a gothy Superhero.

The train was getting busier, it was getting filled to the brim with chavtastics. I was exhausted, yet enjoying the company, whilst being told that Bone can’t be near strippers in strip clubs because he’s a bit too ‘handsy.‘ He apparently goes for a move he has labelled the ‘Rape- Tackle.’ (Ouchy!)  I assured him that the two words on their own, really don’t appeal too much to a young lady, let alone when pushed together lovingly after a bit of cider. It was almost as though he didnt hear me…as he not only started asking me if i knew any ginger strippers, but asking Ben the lovely giant goth, if he would go out around Ponty with him and Wazza. He said it with a joy as magificent as life itself and all because he had managed to ‘out eat’ Wazza during breakfast time. (‘Chrissie I out e’t him. He only had a kebab, I had a whole breakfast the size of this table.”) Niice!

Anyway, seems that Ben, the 6ft 7  Goth, from Knottingley who Wazza had laiden with free beer was only 15. HAHAHA! Can you believe it! Only 15!!!! I loved it! The boys had taught him about strippers, racism, and given booze to a minor. In the space of two stops! I sat quietly and acted like the Queen of Sheeba, as Wazza reminded him that I’m off the telly and have a blog. 🙂 We did pictures. But then Bone spied my Pic a mix and my life was over.

So i’m getting off the train an approimately 5.2 seconds and Wazza decides i’m not going anywhere until he’s felt up every single one of my pic a mix sweets, with his big manky kebab fingers and handed an appropriate sweet to each person at the table. UGH!  Like i have time! It’s not nursery school, it’s my time to get off the damn train home!

He gave really tall Ben a coconut mushroom. Really blathered Bone, recieved a chinese flavoured, gelatine turtle. He chose an….erm, i don’t actually know what he chose? And i finally got off the train and let them continue life, with San Miguel. I’m currently ‘tee total,’ so there’s no boozing for me, whatsoever. It makes me want a gin. A really tangy, refreshing one.

Oh and for those of you who always go on about my blogs being fabricated..

…meet Ben the 15 year old, 6ft 7 Goth, from Knottingley! I love him! x


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