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It would be difficult to bear the inconsistencies of London Transport with a philosophical air even on a good day, so what sort of description would befit the rage it inspires when one’s patience has already been tried to the point of martyrdom?

If the departure screens on the northern line platforms can’t be sure whether their trains are going via Bank or Charing Cross, what hope do we mere mortals have? If London Underground will insist on extending your journey time by vital minutes, forcing you to change trains when you thought you were already on the correct service, the least they could do its run a delayed service from Elephant & Castle to your final destination so that you don’t miss it and have to resort to the bus. When the slow walkers finally get out of your way, allowing you to make a break for the rapidly closing bus door, imagine how edifying it would be if the bus driver turned to you and looked you in the eye as he flipped you the bird and drove off instead of just turning away and depressing the accelerator like a scumbag coward.

What could have happened to cause such an obvious blip in my usual perky optimism? Unfortunately, it would be unprofessional to comment.  Looking on the bright side, however, it has led to the inadvertent development of a new pseudoswear (a word that feels every bit as good to utter as your traditional Anglo Saxon expletive but without any associated offence).

The word is an amalgam of the inoffensive components of “d***head” and “dips**t,” thereby giving rise to the term “diphead.”  Other words which I occasionally resort to in polite company include rowlocks, ballparks and the A. A. Milne classic “oh bother.”

Edit: One of the lovely people who has befriended me in the past year, with whom I share an understanding of the true importance of biscuit selection, suggests “mothertrucker,” “shizzle” and…[to follow when the cloud of night shifts clears]

I began this rant in such a foul temper but I have since had a lovely evening and found a potential opponent in God’s wonderful game, cribbage.  As I switch on my sleep cycle app, try not to think about my rumbling tummy and let my eye lids droop, life could not be sweeter.

Here’s a little game to amuse you: Go to TFL’s journey planner, think of a journey where you know there is a simple and quick, but not necessarily obvious, way to get from A to B.  Type it into the journey planner and see what kind of bullspit it comes out with.

FRPs for taking left over pizza to eat at work: +0.7

Fitness points for taking leftover pizza to eat at work: -4

GRPs for remembering the cut through from the Rye to the Old Nun’s Head: +2

GRPs for taking a shortcut through Peckham at night: -2

Friendship bonus points for going out and having a laugh with mates even though I didn’t feel like it to begin with: +5

Total so far:

  • Karma: +1
  • FRP: +22.9
  • Relationships: 0
  • Family: 0
  • Friends: +5
  • Career: +2
  • Fitness: -8
  • General: -7