Trumpet Gob, the sequel

I don’t generally believe in actually naming and shaming on these pages, to be pictured for the whole ‘net to see (well, the  bit that reads my warblings) just because you’d eaten your crisps rather loudly or decided to feast on pasty perfumed with the body odour of a hod carrier on a hot August day is, even to me, a little harsh.

But this guy, whoever he is, deserves it. I rather hope someone knows him.

Indeed, I’ve now walked the half mile home from the rather lovely Indian restaurant I dined in and have had to shut the windows as I can still hear him. The lovely Trumpet Gob of Frome (see previous post) has nothing on Tannoy Gob of Whiteladies Road. The consumption of lager is a wonderful thing for the young male and frees oneself of any inhibition or self-awareness. This allows you to sit at a table with your three mates and converse at a level equivalent to someone celebrating their team scoring an injury time forty-yard volley into the top comer in the European Cup Final after being four down at half-time.

This man has just blighted the evening of everyone in the restaurant. We were sat three tables away and I could barely hear my friend sat opposite talk. In fact, I’m pretty certain people in neighbouring bars were moving on because of the noise and small children in the locality were coming downstairs as they couldn’t sleep. I’m sure the earthquake centre in San Bernadino was probably registering the odd quiver in BS8 and causing puzzlement. Aircraft at 35.000 feet above reported turbulence and Bristol Airport was shut for several hours. Surgery at the local hospitals was suspended due to the vibration caused. And so on.

So, if you know him, please ask him nicely to never, ever sit in coach A….

Canal Users Network Towpath Society 

Some people have absolutely no self awareness. I mean, absolutely none.

It’s a Saturday afternoon on the train, granted, it’s not the quiet coach but all us old boys are having a rather pleasing time talking nonsense. The train is full and there’s a gentle level of noise of happy people.

At this point, I must point out I’m a Dad. I have children. I consider my children to be lovely and well behaved. Ever since they were little they have been able to sit nicely and travel respecting fellow travellers.

So a family with two enter the coach. They have two small children, small children who should be entertained looking excitedly out of the window. There are lots of trains to look at, people to wave at, animals in fields, fluffy clouds on the sky. Why, I don’t even mind if the big blue diesel parked in the siding gets called Thomas (as opposed to ‘Royal Tank Regiment). What is absolutely, totally and utterly rubbish is their decision to entertain their children with a children’s TV programme on a phone. Paw Patrol apparently. On loud speak. Absolutely unaware that the other 67 fellow travellers are glaring at them. Even a blast of Vivaldis Four seasons doesn’t seem hint enough. We all love Paw Patrol and so does their vacant dribbling brat.

And so I’m off on one. Why on earth do people think it acceptable to share their noise? Why can’t people entertain their children without electronic devices? Why have these people chosen this coach?

However, in their window is a sign reserving their bay for the Canal Users Network Towpath Society.  Obviously the good members have arrived.

(And don’t even start me on the unnecessary on-train announcements)
Ps dedicated to Brian and his bad leg