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Taking the crazy train to Crazy Town


Uncle B’s mom took us to dinner tonight. She goes back tomorrow. I’m stuffed to the gills with good food and good booze, there’s a howling gale beating against the windows, and you damn well won’t get much sense out of me tonight. But I had to share — when we got home, they all had THIS conversation:

Uncle B: Right. You’ll be catching the 13:37 to King’s Cross Station tomorrow.

Old Granny B (peering into her pocket diary): it was the 13:36 last year.

Uncle B: well, you can’t go by that. They’ll have changed the schedule several times since then and just because it’s the near same time doesn’t mean it’s the same train. The important thing is, you want to switch to the fast train from London. There’s a fast train and a slow train. The fast train stops on the South side of the tracks and there are stairs. The slow train stops on the North side and you wouldn’t have to cross over.

Young Master B, the nephew: or you could go one stop beyond. The next station down the line doesn’t have any stairs at all, and the cab ride wouldn’t be any farther!

And that’s when I knew I was in Monty Python country.

September 2, 2009 — 7:12 pm
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