It's all the fault of the trains

I'd not have been in nearly so much trouble if the train timetables at small local stations weren't such lying bar stewards. It's one thing to find a timely service to some halt out in the back of beyond next to a fine hostelry that serves Old Peculier that's especially fine, and Sam Smiths, and their own Puffing Billy (OK, not brewed on the premises but beggars can't be choosers, say hello to the Station Hotel at Haborough). It's another to complicate the evening by not running the two six'ish trains that are going to get me home, and not send another train until half past eight. That's just asking for trouble in any one's book. And certainly mine. An exercise in controlled bombedness then, is the order of the day. A certain lack of lariness (what IS the derivative of "Larey"? Is that even the right spelling? Does it matter at all?), for reasons that are not important here, t'was important to maintain behaviour and I think that was maintained. Hurrah! But "BOO" to the trains! Black mark, chaps.