Europeans are weird

Location: Copenhagen Airport, departure lounge
Atmosphere: reeks of sausage
Mood: sociopathic

I don't like Europeans, they have weird habits and they smell. I like old people even less than that, for pretty much the same reasons. So being sat on a foreign train with no idea where Im going (Kopenhaven apparently - I assumed it was Copenhagen with typical British bloody-mindedness since it "looks most like the place I want to get to"), things took a rapid turn for the worse.

First off some fuckwit teenager sat down opposite me and decided he was the hardest thing since hard was invented by God on the Third Day (aka Iron and Carbon Day), so he stared at me for the first few minutes (I believe he would have tried to outstare a corpse with two glass eyes, possibly winning). I got bored of this so put my book down and said "what?". He stopped staring at me then and spent the rest of the journey sulking and looking out of the window. Twat.

Then a full nazi rally complement of german pensioners got on the train. All female and fat in that Bavarian "I ate a minced pig for breakfast and washed it down with fermented sheep knuckle beer" way. The fattest one decides to sit next to me and managed to drop her walking stick on my foot, then glared at me like it was my fault. Her walking stick handle had been carved into the shape of a Doberman's head, but obviously the ears would have been inconvenient so they left them off. Either that or it was a carving of the family dog shortly after it had been injured in a freak accident with a toilet roll holder.

This woman smelt so bad - the cloying smell of old person really gets to me. It's a mix of stale body odour and lavender, I think the lavender is supposed to suppress the BO but it actually just enhances the overall effect. Much like fat people wearing baggy t-shirts to disguise the huge rolls of blubber falling over their trousers, all you notice is the bits where flesh is _still_ stretching the material tight, despite the fact that they are wearing ten third-world child labourer hours worth of slave cotton. Anyway, she smelt horrendous and I spent the twenty minute journey refraining from beating her to death with 15,000 well placed blows of her freakshow walking stick.

Plus she insisted on talking in german for the entire journey to her friend as loudly as possible about her mobile phone "NOKIA...... SWEDEN..... TELEFONE....NOKIA". Gah. She needed a dry slap. With a brick. Launched from a cannon.

Anyway, time to board my flight now. I hope for my sake there are no octagenarian germans sitting near me. I've got a brick in my rucksack.