Crossing The Line

Burnt coffee Here I am on another earth shattering commute to the homeland. Being a proud expat of the Irish persuasion living abroad (I know london isn’t exactly Hong Kong far, but hey it has a difference currency and everything), I tend to find myself surrounded by package holiday goers almost by monthly in the various airports that surround london. (I usually tend to pick who will get me there cheapest - who cares if its harder to get there? I’ve saved 5 pounds! or 6.20 in euros!).   As I am a man that is annoyed easily ( I am a man, before you think differently) taking commuter planes, traveling with others, sitting in packed airports and putting up with queue skippers ( there fucking everywhere in a airport - *shakes fist profusely at the nearest queue skipper*) has me ill tempered and annoyed before the plane even takes off.  There are many situations we have to put up with while trying to enjoy our burnt coffee ( why is it all airport cafe’s burn...

'Hi Ya'.  Two words spoken high pitched with laughs either side start my weekend. Goal, catch up have some craic, generally get massively wasted, do the robot, speak crap and take the piss out of how each of us has changed in the last year. Yup you might of guessed it, had an old irish buddy over for the weekend, this one in particular could write a book R rated on my passed, mostly drunk'n, Shenanigans. 'Any Craic'  We chatter away as she collected me from work to walk me from the urban mecca that is Bromley South station back to central London. Of course being Irish, this female friends luggage should be a small suitcase with wheels, possible pink with butterflies or purple with rabbits or some crap, ah but no, you don't understand the irish you see ' sure what would you fit in that, I'm taking my boyfriends old gear bag'. Cut too an old Reebok retro 90's gear bag. Grey in colour complete with standard haggard used to dea...