Rail and road rage

I had my first experience of a Welsh football international at the Millennium Stadium on Saturday.
I don't think they'll ask me back.
Enough's been said about the match so I'll just moan instead about the four-and-a-half hour cross-border cross-country ordeal that is necessary to endure to see our national side perform. Looking at the flags around the ground, quite a few Gogs had made the journey - and shared the miserable trip home.
Poor road links to the capital justifiably remain the biggest gripe when two or more business people in the North gather. The same can be applied to the many passionate Welshmen and women who love their football. We all deserve better - on the road and on the pitch.
I'd had enough of driving by Monday and so headed to a meeting in Chester by train. Here's a sobering thought - in a carriage packed with about seventy people (mostly young), just two were reading newspapers and one a magazine. Everyone else stared out the window or into space. Many burbled on mobiles and others jarred the peace with their MP3 players.
The journey back was as bad. There were about sixty people in the carriage but it felt like double that because just about everyone was bawling down their mobile. Obviously it was important stuff, such as:
"Yeh, right. Where am I? yeh we're just comin' through Shotton. Yeh. Right. Yeh. Have I seen Baz? No, why? Has he? Yeh, right. No, did he? Yeh, Gawd he's just mental, right. Me, yeh ah'm just knackered. I need a holiday, you know, just chillin' out for a bit, you know. Did you? Did you like it? Went there a couple o' years back with Linzi. Yeh, right, it were all right, yeah, but I dunno, bit minging, you know. Yeh.....(and so on and so on for FORTY BLOODY MINUTES).
Time to invest in some earmuffs.