Spite for spite's sake

I had an amazing revelation whilst on route to Harrogate to attend my father’s stag do, that all the major decisions I’ve come to make in my life have been either the result of guilt on my part, or more frequently the result of spite.

I’m not ashamed of my spiteful side, as it’s not in anyway meant to cause offence but it’s the fuel that gives me my super powers as Lisa so succinctly put it:

“You spiteful? No shit!! It’s what makes you the twat we all know and love.”

Saw the Hold Steady on last Wednesday, and they were fantastic. Sort of GBV meets Husker Du. I’ve since re-listened to their album and have been berating myself incessantly for not appreciating as much as I ought to have. I went with Tom and mentioned my spite revelation to him. He concurred. Though he did try and convince me I was often churlish and contrary. I disagreed.

So my father’s stag do eh? This was my first ever stag do, and it wasn’t as anywhere near as freaky as I thought it would be, in fact I had a good time.

The journey was a nightmare though. I had to leave the flat early as I had a college interview for this Dreamweaver/Multi media evening course I fancied. It turned out to be a bit of a farce. I knew I was going to get on the course when the tutor noticed I was more qualified than he was.

I had been notified that the interview could go on for 3 hours, so I brought my Macthel (my man bag) and had planned to head off to the train station straight afterwards. Alas, the interview was over by 9.45. I didn’t fancy getting a taxi home, waiting a few hours then getting another taxi back to the station especially as it was £7 each way, after all you can take the boy out of Yorkshire, but you can’t take the Yorkshire out of the boy.

So I arrived at Lime Street Station some 4 hours earlier than I had anticipated. I was soaked too and as I was hobbling along on one crutch it took my ages to walk there. I noticed that I was once again wearing my girl’s army surplus jacket again (I purchased it in NYC but wasn’t aware it was a girl’s jacket until I returned home), and with the bedraggled look and crutches, I felt that I resembled a Vietnam War vet a la Born on The Forth of July.

I had to kill 40 minutes once I’d arrived at the station and read a wide range of magazines in WHS Smiths.

I got to the platform with plenty of time to spare and a Chocolate Brownie and a cup of tea and got myself a decent seat once the train’s doors opened. I was still soaked and feeling peeved over the journey and the interview. The chocolate brownie was a good idea, and dunking it in my tea caused the cake to get stuck in my gums, but I didn’t care.

Alas, before the train departed I was involved in a altercation with a fellow passenger.
As I was happily muching on my cake I heard a woman’s voice ask:

“Does this train go to Manchester Piccadilly?”
No one answered and gave her blank looks.
“It goes to one of the Manchester stations- though I’m not sure which?” I said through a caked filled mouth.
“What?!” She said rudely shaking her head at me in a mixture of distain and confusion.
“It goes to one of the Manchester stations- though I’m not sure which. It’ll be on the screen on the platform.”
“I’ve check that and it doesn’t” She snapped back.
“It should do. If you just wait a moment, it changes screen and the destinations will be on the next screen.”
She tutted at me, shook her head and walked off chuntering that no one could be arsed helping her.
“Ohhh you’re quite welcome” I hollered back to her.
I was pretty outraged by her rudeness. I was only trying to help. A fellow passenger looked at me in agreement.

I popped my headphones in my ears and switched on my MP3 player and tried to forget about it.

After the train set off, this girl came back into our carriage and took the seat opposite me.
At the time I felt quite guilty for shouting down the train at her, so avoided any eye contact and just looked out of the window and the industrial landscape of the North West.

As our journey progressed, she was frequently on her phone arranging to be picked up from Piccadilly and bemoaning Virgin Trains and the fact that and I quote: “no one in this city seems to want to help anyone”. Of course I was listening in and had stopped my MP3 player in order to do so. I was pretty outraged with her, but being the easy going chap I am, I didn’t let it get the better of me.

The journey passed pretty much without any points of interest however, as we pulled into Manchester, I glanced over to my right and noticed this girl was asleep! I decided that me waking her up would be quite disturbing for her, and chose to let the tannoy announcement alert her to the fact we were approaching her destination.
The robotic and monotonous voice announced that we were arriving at Manchester Piccadilly yet she didn’t move. Again, I assumed that she would still wake up in time, but as we pulled into the station she was still fast asleep.

At this juncture, I convinced myself that she might not have been departing at this station, and merely wanted the information for a friend who wanted to catch the same train as her. I therefore chose to do nothing and let her sleep peacefully.
Deep down I knew this was the wrong thing to do and that I was being especially spiteful, but frankly I didn’t give a shit.

As we approached Huddersfield, her saw from the corner of my eye her wake, and switching off my MP3 player, I pretended to be asleep.

I noticed that she was quite calm, however when we approached Huddersfield, she looked a little panicked. She asked the Conductor, who was walking past, if we were near to Manchester? I found it so hard not to let out a sly and devious cackle when he told her we’d been passed Manchester.

She got off at Huddersfield which was only a few minutes away. She looked upset and was on her mobile. It felt good.

The rest of the journey was a nightmare, but thankfully no spiteful actions on my part.

I had to waste time in Leeds, and I got soaked.

I arrived in Harrogate at 3pm, and both my brother and father were at work until after 5pm, so I thought it sensible to seek refuse in the near by cinema.

“What’s the next film that’s starting; that’s NOT Harry Potter please?” I asked the fresh faced girl behind the counter.

“What any film?”
“Any film….except Harry Potter” I repeated.
“Shrek III is showing the trailers now and starts in five minutes.”
“One adult for Shrek please!” I ordered slapping a tenner on the counter.

The film was okay, but nowhere near as good as previous Shrek films.

I also looked like a kiddie fiddler, in drenched, bedraggled and sat on my own at the back. The rest of the audience consisted of young parents and there excited offspring. I was the only one there sans children. I felt weird and noticed a few odd lokks from the respective parents and guardians.

After the film, I went to the toilets to put in my contact lenses ready for the stag do. Whilst doing so some kid came in and asked me what I was doing.

“Just putting my contact lenses in” I answered.
“Why?” He asked.
“So I don’t have to wear my galsses” I responded whilst delicately trying to concentrate.
The kid, walked out without using the toilet.

20 seconds later an old lady knocked on the door and walked in. I could see her in the reflection of the mirror.

“Ohh I’m soo sorry” She said
“Erm…it’s okay” I said slightly perplexed.
“My grandson came running out saying there was man doing something strange in the toilet!”
“It’s okay. Just doing my contact lenses”
“Sorry.” She said again closing the door behind her.
As she closed the door I could hear a Odeon member of staff ask if everything was okay. I felt the pressure of trying to get these lenses in quickly.


Allow me to introduce my eldest son” my dad said proudly as I hobbled into the Old Bell.
“How was your journey?”
“Crap! It was full of Spite, arguments, chocolate and I was almost attacked by an old lady in the cinema toilet who thought I was a child abuser…” I answered.
“…Does anyone want a drink?”


MP3's:
(follow links)

The Hidden Cameras- Ban Marriage

Buffalo Springfield- On the Way Home

Calexico- Drenched

Superchunk- New Low