Fuck this snow. 'But where's usual chirpy happy Tiernan?' He died in a snow drift somewhere between wherever the hell I am now and the torrid pile of boredom and misery that is Worcester. A city whose Christmas lights this year appear to be on the theme of 'pound shop'. Yes, I'm angry and I'm taking it out on places I don't really know or haven't bothered to see, but all because of overly persuasive agents and promoters, I am enduring a day of traveling shitfest trying to get home because the snow has cocked everything up like a big frosty ice dick from Hades. Train number 1 was cancelled, train number 2, which I am on now, was 45 minutes late and is now running well over an hour and half late as we sit here in a 'train queue'. Train queues are pretty orderly things mainly because when you're stuck on tracks behind 6 other vehicles all stuck on tracks you can't go anywhere ever. Seemingly for the rest of all time. The loos are frozen, and the heating's not great so everyone is sitting here crossed legged and cold, with faces that would convey only misery if they were able to defrost enough to pull expressions. I am angry with my self for not having the sense to say no to last night's gig on the basis that it has now cost me most of my fee in getting here and even more of my time in trying to return.
There should be some consensus in this weather that everyone just doesn't need to go anywhere or do anything. A small man in a plough, who wouldn't work the rest of the year, should get paid to drive around his local area delivering groceries and letting everyone else stay in with hot tea or play outside making snowmen. That's all I want. I've had a tea. There is more tea here. And I'd like more tea. But more tea would increase the need for more wee and wee can't happen. So no tea for T. It is, essentially, the worst thing in the world ever. Its odd how Dante's ideology was all fire and burning and yet in reality the true existence of Inferno is a frosty snow covered train in the Midlands where a small child keeps playing the same level over and over again on his DS ensuring the same plinky noise keeps happening followed by his repetitive cries of despair. All of this combined make me wonder if I buried him in the snow just how long it would take before his body is discovered.
I am wearing my thermals which I bought from UniGlo the other day. I was ashamed to own thermals but in anticipation of my Norway venture and gigs in the Alps in Feb, I purchased a 'Heatech' tshirt and long johns and gave in to the concept of being an old man from a Western who fires shotguns from his porch. Actually, they are amazing. Firstly, my long johns are silver, which I think automatically qualifies me as a pirate. Secondly, my lower region is proper toasty right now. Sure I need the loo which renders most comfort possibilities invalid, but at least my crossed legs are happier than other peoples. Winner. In the biggest losery way ever.
Of course I wondering if I'll ever get to Norway or the Alps. Sure its not for a few weeks but the way this journey is going I'm just expecting never to get home again. Or to have to walk it. It's clearly the second ice age. I'll give it another hour or so before I make a makeshift sledge out of the irritating child and find four small dogs to lead it forth through the Cotswalds and back to London. Fuck you snow. Fuck you in your stupid cold face.