Peeves and Bluster # 1

Surely there can be no sweeter sound than the free-form music of me, moaning like a crabby old fart and bitching like an old granny with a sore arse. So come on in.

Today, I will be mostly giving out about the temperature on Irish trains. This very morning I arrived at work once again almost needing another shower thanks to the driver not knowing his hot from his cold when it comes to the dial on the heater controls. Drives. Me. Up. The. Fucking. Wall.

Get this. A few years ago, they trumpet the arrival of these new air-conditioned trains. They have no windows you can open along the carriages, but s'aright innit - they're air conditioned.

But wait, this is Ireland. Therefore, every summer as Dublin sweats and labours in its traditional climate of clouded-over humidity, they rarely if ever switch it on. So in exasperated unison we buck and sway along the track to work every morning, then home again in the evening, jammed up against each other as rivulets of sweat roll off our faces and trickle down the spine of our backs. Horrible, fetid, inconsiderate. People genuinely faint, pregnant women, the lot, one kid had a fit one morning and I'm not joking.

Now that winter's here, you'd think the cooler days would leave it easier. But no, because guess what, now the fuckers won't turn off the heating! I can't fathom it. All sorts of shit goes through my head. They won't turn on cool air to save money. The driver has his own open window and doesn't know or give a damn. They run a pool in the CIE office to see how many people they can make faint. They're on commission if they don't turn it on ever, and get a bonus if someone dies. It's an international pharmaceutical conspiracy and the government is paying them to overheat us to ridiculous degrees to make us catch colds when we step into the fresh air.

Most likely, they have the dial set in the middle and can't be arsed moving it. Ever.

I'm partly to blame. I don't complain you see, but part of me wants to know why I should have to over something so plainly obvious as: cold air in warm weather, hot air in winter but only if it's actually cold enough to warrant it.

I even dress for the train. It's a sub-culture or climate all of its own you see. I actually stand there and consider every morning what I put on, and how likely it is to leave me dripping like a Mexican ranch hand chasing cattle in midsummer heat when I battle my way on to the choo-choo, which I playfully refer to in lighter moments (this isn't one, btw) as the phew-phew. This carefully selected outfit (criteria - time of year, likely volume of passengers, weight of wool, tightness of undergarments etc.) ends up, in turn, being wholly unsuitable for the normal temperatures outside and so I'm skinned with the cowld on my way to the office or going to lunch.

I'm telling ya, it's a world of pain.

More of this later.

PS: It's not unheard of for me to step onto a train on a freezing cold day and find that, for some reason, the air conditioning is on. I wish I was joking but I'm not.