And I have to tell you a story about how I was on the train, reading The Guardian and pretnending not to be as dr0nk as the people around me who were going home to Cambridge and were clearly also dr0nk.
So i was in one of those four-person table-seating area jobbies, and there was this tall slim model-looking girl next to me who kindly moved her mile-long legs aside so I could get into the seat next to her when I steamed onto the train THREE SECONDS before it left. No really, Three Seconds. The doors slammed shut behind me. The lady on the platform looked at me pityingly as I ran limping up the platform (having fallen on a Tube escalator trying to get to the train because hi, DRONKK). So anyway, the nic emodel girl moved her legs so I could get in.
About 20 minutes into the journey, there was a SMELL. A bad SMELL. And it was coming from our area. And it was not me. Soebody had parped. I pretended to be really absorbed in an article about how gormless Ed Milliband is. But really I was watching for signs. Signs of guilt. Signs of parp.
The girl next to me suddenly got up and went to the toilet. HA, I thought. She has to go to the toilet. Clear indicator of guilty parp party.
But no! One minute after she had left, the fresh scent of parp hit my nostrils. So no. It was not model girl. It was the couple across from me. Girl was pretending to be asleep. Man was repeatedly clearing his throat. Perhaps him? Not sure.
Model girl returned from the toilet. We smiled at each other as I shifted to give her maximum returning space. Then we both caught the eye of the man across. GUILT. Guilt, pure and plain and clear, all over his face. The parper was caught.