Ahhhhh, when it’s a Bank Holiday (U.S. “long”) weekend, can the Train Smash Women be far behind?
Of course not: they’re quite up front [sic] :
And, as usual, all over the place:
As we used to say (back when one could say such things): “Take her ‘ome, Jimmy; she’s ready.”
Follow the link: there are approximately half a dozen regrettable decisions in every pic.
Ordinarily at this time of year, we would be regaling ourselves with our annual Train Smash Women Extravaganza (i.e. Ladies Day at the Grand National at Aintree, Liverpool).
Unfortunately, this year’s event has been canceled because of the Chink Flu, so in desperation, the newspapers have resorted to measures such as this:
Despite cancelling the annual Grand National races due to the ongoing public health risk surrounding coronavirus, organisers of the event are adamant on enabling the races to still make their mark. They’re encouraging virtual racegoers to don their Sunday best and submit pictures of their outfits for consideration in its best-dressed awards.
Until now, only racegoers with tickets for the Aintree event have been able to enter the competition. But this year anyone is eligible to enter, simply by submitting a photograph of themselves in their outfit via the Ladies’ Day Facebook event page here. [link omitted]
This isn’t going to work, for obvious reasons. The fun part about Aintree is not the outfits; whenever the papers talk about “fashion stakes” and such, they’re always careful to picture the women as they arrive at the event, e.g.:
However, as any fule kno, the real entertainment only starts after the racecourse bars have been open for a couple hours, whereupon those carefully-groomed ladies turn quickly into Train Smash Women:
If all we’re going to get this year is fashion pics, then… pass, even though some of the outfits can be ummmm interesting:
But if the girls get into the spirit of the thing this year and get shitfaced before taking selfies in their homes, we’re in for a treat. If they’re like the above in public, imagine the scenario in private.
I’ll monitor the situation (because somebody has to), but I suspect that the papers won’t publish any good ones.
I am completely hostile towards people who seem to be unable to get on an airliner without either being drunk, or getting drunk on the flight, and causing trouble either way. As with all things, as long as drunk people are quiet and keep their shit together, who cares? But then you get this kind of situation:
As Kenny would say at Knuckledraggin: straight up White trash, God bless ’em.
I can see the day coming when all flights are booze-free, and passengers suspected of being drunk (think: breathalyzers before boarding) will be denied their flight. Or, this may only happen in shithole places like Manchester UK or Las Vegas NV, which is where most of these incidents seem to arise.
Look: nobody enjoys a relaxing pint of gin more than I do, so I feel a little sorry for people such as Mr. Free Market, who routinely get completely whacked when flying — especially on the very long ones such as UK – Hong Kong or Australia – anywhere — because frankly, it’s probably the best remedy for boredom. But people like him may have to have their fun curtailed by louts such as the above prize pair, because at some point, a drunken asshole is going to pop the cabin door at 30,000 feet, with predictable consequences.
I have to say, by the way, that I myself always travel sober for the simple reason that the normal dehydration of flying + the dehydrating effect of booze has only one result: 
…so a ban on booze wouldn’t affect me at all.
But it’s always the few idiots who fuck things up for the many, isn’t it?
A little while ago, I asked why the Daily Mail only features Train Smash Women Partying in northern British cities, and got this thoughtful email response from Reader Pippa D:
I believe it’s because the drinking areas and establishments in northern English cities are fairly centralised — Manchester, Deansgate; Newcastle, Bigg Market; Birmingham, Broad Street — for example. So the concentration of New Year drunks spilling out of local bars and clubs is greater. The party paparazzi duly get a lot of amusing/tragic photos as they are in the right place at the right time.
But in London, the drinking establishments are spread right across the city; they are spread across suburban areas too. Effectively, London is a swirl of lots of mini-towns with not one centralised ‘party district’. Not even Leicester Square, Piccadilly or Covent Garden. People party in Camden, Dalston, Clapham, Mayfair, etc. So if the paparazzi have to choose to wait for drunks outside a handful of pubs and bars in one small area containing only 3% of the overall nights revellers in the city, they might not get too much joy.
I don’t believe it’s a northern/southern British snobbery thing or politicised.
Makes sense to me — although I would suggest that pretty much any two-block area in London’s East End would yield similar results.
I also note, by the way, that the above pic came from the Daily Express, and not from the Mail.
As one who constantly scours Teh Intarwebz for pictures and stories of Train Smash Women®, I always use Britain’s Daily Mail as a primary source because the best source for trash is going to be trash itself.
However, in looking for evidence of New Year’s Eve Train Smashdom this morning, I couldn’t help but wonder: why is it that the DM is always featuring these creatures in towns like Leeds, Manchester, Birmingham, Newcastle and Cardiff? I mean, I know the reason is the same as why robbers rob banks: it’s the low-hanging fruit principle. But as much as I enjoy sights like this:
…I can’t help but wonder: why does the (London-based) Daily Mail not feature similar scenes from London? It’s not like it’s too far away for their photographers to travel, after all, and it’s not like Londoners are the model of propriety when it comes to Train Smash behavior (as I can well attest, having been there for the festive season many times).
I think we should be told.
A couple of years ago, the Daily Mail featured this creature in their coverage of the races at Aintree (Liverpool):
I know; no man should, right? Well, apparently the young lady saw the pic of herself, came to the same conclusion and did something bout it. The following year at Aintree produced this pic:
Yikes. Were it not for the tattoos on the feet [sigh], you wouldn’t know it was the same girl. Again:
Alas, thanks to the current trend towards radical feminism (“Your body is beautiful no matter what it looks like!”), coupled with the usual suspects (booze, bad diet, etc.), American girls seem to be headed in the opposite direction.
Try not to throw up.
Sad, especially when you learn that all the changes took place inside the space of a couple of years.
But hey… it’s a free country, so to speak, and these women should be able to abuse themselves as they please — just as men can exercise their choice and not date them unless there’s drunkenness and/or sheer desperation involved.