Listening to: Accidental Anarchist (The Levellers)
This looked like a bad idea from the moment the very nice tea trolley bloke plonked it on the table in front of me on the 8.39am from Thurso to Inverness.
"Teas, coffees, sandwiches, beers*, refrrrrreshments," he cried as he trundled past me.
The pig "farmer" was in an especially good mood, having managed to catch a ferry to Thurso, find a decent pint in a town that would be most at home in a Douglas Adams novel, get up in time for both breakfast and a train, sitting back to enjoy the snow-covered moors and lochs of Caithness through a pretty murky window.
The coffee came black, I picked up the little plastic sachet thingy and dutifully tore where it said "tear here". The dotted line was exactly a millimetre away from where it needed to be.
I tore again - a little lower.
I wiped milk off my chin and turned to the second sachet, supplied presumably as a back-up. At arm's length, I carefully eased it open and got most of the milk into the cup, the rest ending up all over Harry Redknapp (see pic).
I've just consulted this website only to discover the perpetrators are from just down the road from where I used to live. Who said crap stuff didn't follow you around?
You've probably already guessed that none of the expected disasters occurred. I got to Aberdeen no problem, met The Boy, drank my own bodyweight in beer not once but three times, watched a quite poor Scotland side run up 41 points against a bunch of Canadian students, slithered around in the snow and slush, enjoyed a delightful walk along the snow-covered seaside. . .
. . . and got a Sunday night boat back to Kirkwall before a Monday morning return to Westray where I'm now in detox.
* yes, beer before 9am - this is Scotland after all.