Comment's home of rants; weird, wonderful, weekly.

Josh Snell
17th October 2016
Comment's home of rants: weird, wonderful, weekly.

by Josh Snell

Once, for about 30 seconds, I tried to calculate how much of my life I spend commuting. The answer I came up with was a definitive “too long”. Now, I’m sure Newcastle is a lovely city. But, most of the time, I don’t ever get to see it. Why? Well, I’m seemingly forever on the public transport, watching as workers filter onto the Metro in hordes ready for another day at the office. It all came to a head the other day when I sat on the Metro and, to my right, I saw a gentleman dangling from the overhead bars with a baguette sticking out of his backpack. At that moment, I just thought “this man has lost his mind” – this is what commuting does to you. Commuting made the man mad! Let’s invent teleportation already.

by Bruce Skelton

Is there anything more stereotypically British than queuing? While the Royal Family and drinking tea are both up there, we seem quite content forming a line and waiting our turn. In some cases, we even allow another person to enter before us! “After you”, is a terrible convention that nobody knows the origin of. Irritatingly, an all too common occurrence is finally realising that after waiting 999 minutes we’re in the entirely wrong queue. Whilst our minds are erratically jumping on the inside, we again apologise politely, awkwardly moving to wherever we’ve been directed to restart the lengthy procedure. Potentially even more frustrating are those times I guarantee we’ve all experienced, usually in relation to a train you’re about to miss. You’re running late, you join the back of the queue for a ticket, wait your turn and then fumble desperately with the automated machine. Finally, to top it all off, your ticket never even gets checked.

by Chris Murray 

Being a political enthusiast, I plonked myself down on the sofa with a slightly disappointing pizza. Despite my reservations about the credibility of the candidates, I must admit that this election does have me intrigued; if only to watch ‘The Donald’ drop another clanger and then miraculously escape political ruin for the umpteenth time. Whether it was Trump forgetting to hide how proud he was of himself after saying something he thought clever with a little self-congratulatory smile, or Clinton continuously shaking her head at the audience when her adversary was making a point like a deranged, politically inept bobble-head toy, the second Presidential debate had everything. Everything, that is, apart from a plausible candidate to become Leader of the Free World.

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