THE HOME OF BUBBLES
I DONT KNOW IF ANYONE CALLS THE CITY BATH : THE HOME OF BUBBLES BUT I THINK THEY SHOULD
When someone asks me, do you like the West Country, my answer always starts with never eat shredded wheat, followed by is that Suffolk, or is that more Liverpool. After someone has given me a long lesson on the placement of towns across the UK, I am still lost, but I know something, so I say yeah I am a fan, I know it, and in fact I am going there. This story is about my trip to Bath, or like how I call it and no one else does, but it would work so well, the home of Bubbles.
The day started off very early at 5 in the morning where I decided no, let’s not have a lie in and enjoy my sleep because I will not get to bed until 3 in the morning the next day. I would race to work and get on with my day. That is what I did. I took multiple carrier bags of stuff with me to work as I did not have a bag that was categorically correct for the travels that day. Let me tell you something. A bag can be one of two things, either a bag that holds stuff or a massive inconvenience that looks awesome but really cannot hold shit. That is my bag. Makes me look like a ninja turtle but in a good way, and it is good for the planet as it is made mostly of plastic bottles, but it is not fucking waterproof. So I bought some packing cubes which were larger than my bag, but I only realised after I had spent 2 hours folding and rolling my clothes to fit. So I said I am a lazy bastard, I would rather just take a shit load of bags and be that inconvenience than bring a bag where I would not stop moaning about it and therefore ruining your day, trip. I once went on a trip with a group and on the 5 hour journey there I had made a deal with someone to not talk and just sleep the entire way so we could all enjoy the trip. I did not even get a chance to sleep, I was like the fucking radio, but not any good music, just boring political nonsense I knew nothing about, so in a way it was a great impression.
At lunch I went on a mosey walk to Sports Direct to get everything I needed for quite a high level event for which I was not ready, nor was my tea ready for my shocking tenure as centre back and striker, two positions I still cannot fully understand. But in this shop I could not work out what to wear. I was told I needed an all black kit. But knowing myself quite well, I know I do not share any fashion sense with Anna Wintour. I see what mannequins wear and I just wear that. Cannot go wrong as someone thought that is a good arrangement, so surely it works for everyone. Then the brand wars begin as I cannot mix Nike and Adidas, but I also cannot wear one brand for all as the bloody shorts were too short and my legs are pretty fucking long. So after a full 10 minute debate with ChatGBT on how to pull off the right clothing, I spent the money and bought a big ass bag to try and reduce the sheer amount of shite I had brought. Anyway, I packed everything and left.
We took the Lizzy Line to Pads and that was quite a neat journey.
For the majority of people, checking to see if a train is delayed or cancelled is a part of their routine, for me I am more of a what happens happens, and if the train is not there I can just walk. I boarded the train and it turns out the two trains before were cancelled, and as I approached my seat, there was a lovely Australian couple sitting there. I say lovely because at the time when I asked if I could sit in my seat and they said no, the painting of words I would have used to describe them for giving me a horrible outcome, to sit on the fucking floor for two hours in the heat next to their knees whilst they enjoy the comfort of a backrest, that description was by far the best thing I have written, but also I am not here to diss my fellow commuters even if they are absolute bastards. I just gave in way too easily and paid the price.
When I got off the train and sat in a car, I did not care it felt like a sauna, all I cared about was lumbar support, and I do not want to know what that makes me, but it was bloody needed.