The Curious Incident of the Trains in the Night Time

I went to see that show about the dead dog.  Dead good it was.  The show, not the dog.  The dog was dead, so was a little bit past ethics.

What was less good, and therefore far more fun to talk about was the journey home.  The trains were an absolute joke.  An hour standing on the concourse at Liv St, followed by a scramble for the train on Platform 12, a half hour wait then a dash to platform ten.  It was two hours before we'd left the station - well pumpkin.

Something else that was rubbish was the Essex Book Festival event that I went to.  All publicity is good publicity (I say that as someone who's pretty stoked about the prospect of ballooning over Valley of the Kings - didn't even know that was a thing until 2 weeks ago...), so I'm not naming names, suffice to say your man wasn't a raconteur.  Or someone who knew about the book that he had allegedly written. So, Essex Book Festival, you had a chance.  You blew it.

Game over.

Confetti.