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Timetables trouble me top to toe, they chop and change, they come and go, today okay, tomorrow don’t know, it’s driving me insane. How can I get from A to B, preferably immediately, without altering my itinerary again and again and again? The only way to stop the pain of traveling tube or tram or train is to take the racing line, that fine unhindered path of direct access straight to sites desired. The sane may question my insistent urge to purge this world of the constant scourge of timetables taking their toll upon my brain, but I say head for southern Spain and go insane, singing: “TfL, go to hell! TfL, what’s that funny smell? It’s TfL, making me feel unwell. Go to hell TfL!” I hate Victoria Coach Station, it makes me want to scream, it makes me irate, the situation is really quite extreme, I want to deflate the entire location and zap it with my beam, I have to restate my agitation at this monstrous hellish dream. The only way to get away from a transport system in disarray is to sod them and take the path less trodden, straight routes through a state where something’s rotten, it’s a dark art that our heart’s forgotton, so head for southern Spain and go insane, singing… We two commuters from Tooting Bec are, one on the underground, one in a car. One toots his hooter, one can’t get WiFi on his computer, neither gets very far, because London town is renowned for timetables troubling me top to toe. The more speed you need the slower you go. The cleaner the dog, the keener the fleas. The greater the grater, the lesser the cheese.

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from Kaboomba!, released July 30, 2009
Written by J. Hinton

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