What a difference a mode of transport makes.

Motorways, I fucking hate them. I truly, truly loathe them. Quite aside from the cheek of the Irish State demanding still more money from the Irish driver for using a road system, which was supposed to have been paid for by their annual motortax. You then have the sheer boredom of it all, with occasional moments of bowel loosening terror as you get to witness the inevitable, and innumerable examples of just how bad other drivers can be.

Contrast this with a totally different mode of transport. The train. Yes, I’ll freely and happily admit that CIE is a low grade form of evil, which infects, and infests all who come in contact with them. Hell I have spoken at length on that precise subject before. But for all the crap that goes with travelling Irish Rail there are some advantages.

The seats, especially on the newer trains, are often very comfortable.

The toilets, when they don’t decide to open of their own accord, or haven’t been painted liberally with someone elses diarrhea, are amazing. (Amazing for a train, let’s make that clear.)

They do run on rails, so leaving aside rare accidents like the driver falling asleep and running clean through the station at the end, you’re pretty damned unlikely to get side-swiped, by some learner fucking driver who legally shouldn’t have been there anyway.

Oh, and you can of course get a really bad cup of coffee, a dry and pretty much tasteless danish, enjoy pretty scenery (which hasn’t been levelled for construction purposes, or blocked off by embankments), and chat up the cute redhead who sat down next to you. All without having to pull over at a (in Ireland) non-existent service station.

I should make it clear that I don’t really like train travel. If I had a choice I’d travel everywhere by plane. I love flying, I even love the wait in the airport. And frankly I get a lot of joy out of headfucking the security personnel when they insist on feeling me up.

*Security guard pats down Amanda’s inner thigh.*

“mmmmm” *Amanda gasps*

*Security guard goes bright red and waves Amanda through.*

Airports are like living things, there’s a hundred stories happening there at any given moment. And I love them. Next you have the airplanes themselves. How anyone can feel anything like “meh” about flying, I’ll never understand. Think about it, you will never travel faster, or, unless you’re a certain rapper, get higher in your life. And you can get lousy coffee, lousy pastries and chat up a redhead if one happens to sit next to you. AND you do all this with two huge explosive containers strapped to the sides of your mode of transport. How is that not exciting?

But do you know what isn’t? That’s right, motorways. The scenery is at best meh, at worst non-existent. There are basically no turns. No where to pee, unless you want to use the side of the road. And no I don’t thank you, I confuse enough people without taking Miss Happy out, and tinkling like a Porn-Princess in the middle of nowhere while the country watches. They’re boring, boring, boring, bladder-bursting, boring, right up until they’re terrifying.

Learner drivers who go on to motorways should be drowned in a septic tank, the slow way.

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