Renationalised rail firms to be as great as local councils

THREE rail operators which are to be renationalised next year will soon have the same fantastic quality and customer service as your local council.  

Passengers looking forward to South Western Railways, C2C and Greater Anglia entering public hands have been asked to imagine the efficiency and responsiveness of their bin collections, but as trains.

A government spokesman said: “The hope is that, over the long-term, you’ll be ripped off slightly less. In the short-term we’re desperate for cash. Tailor expectations accordingly.

“But they will be public services and run by the same dead-eyed civil servants as HMRC, or the Passport Office, or your local municipal swimming pool. Hated being on hold for 40 minutes? Try nobody answering the phone for an hour.

“If you want, you can ask commuters on TransPennine or South Eastern, both in public hands already, if services have dramatically improved. Expect a lengthy answer, containing multiple uses of the word ‘bastards’.

“It will mean spurious profits not being shovelling into the grasping hands of CEOs who wreck the service, if that’s any consolation while you wait outside Milford for three hours while repeatedly reminded the buffet car has no tea. I suspect it won’t be.”

26-year-old Ellie Shaw said: “I asked my dad how great British Rail was before it was privatised. He fell into a black pit of despair from which he has yet to emerge.”

Are you stupid enough to think you can clean the oven? A tragedy in five acts

HAVE you made the unwise decision to clean your own oven, based purely on it being unacceptably filthy? These are the stages of your unfolding regret: 

It takes all day

Did you naively put aside an hour? Prepare to lose the whole day. You thought doing it yourself would save money, but it takes time you can never buy back. Several hours bent over scrubbing like a Victorian child, dreaming of other, happier lives not wasted scraping away years of burnt crap. Ironically, it’ll have you wanting to stick your head in an oven.

It hurts 

The task is so physically demanding, it’s practically athletic. It’s a pain in the neck, the back, the arms, the knees comparable to forced labour. Hands and face coated in black grease, breathing in ash and decay.  By the end every part of you will hurt. It’s like a spin class where you’re both victim and sadistic instructor.

It’s f**king disgusting

As household chores go, cleaning the oven is top of the vile jobs. It’s an archaeological exploration into all the awful meals of your past. Unidentified chunks of food, splatters of fat and splashes of long-forgotten sauces coat its walls like a grotesque Jackson Pollock. You’re in hell, trying to scour your own tarnished soul.

It’s chemical warfare

If the foul stench of the scummy oven isn’t bad enough, prepare to unleash a cocktail of lethal cleaning chemicals. Despite the oven being a place to cook food, oven cleaner could confidently strip the fur off a cat. After an afternoon breathing in high-intensity bleach, you’ll either pass out, forget your own name, or meet God.

It stays clean for five minutes 

The worst part of cleaning an oven is using the oven again. After a lifetime making the bastard sparkle and shine, suddenly it’s time to cook a lasagne. And within a week you’re back to where you started. Best drape a tea towel over it and pretend it doesn’t exist. Nobody ever had to clean Deliveroo.