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"published": "2024-11-21T18:49:55Z",
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"content": "<p><span class=\"h-card\" translate=\"no\"><a href=\"https://beige.party/@purplepadma\" class=\"u-url mention\">@<span>purplepadma</span></a></span> <span class=\"h-card\" translate=\"no\"><a href=\"https://beige.party/@TheBreadmonkey\" class=\"u-url mention\">@<span>TheBreadmonkey</span></a></span> </p><p>Douglas Adams’ Train Station Biscuits Story (or What It Is To Be British)</p><p>This goes on a bit, so you might want to go make a cup of tea first.</p><p>This actually did happen to a real person, and the real person was me. I had gone to catch a train. This was April 1976, in Cambridge, U.K. I was a bit early for the train.</p><p>I’d gotten the time of the train wrong. I went to get myself a newspaper to do the crossword, and a cup of coffee and a packet of biscuits I went and sat at a table.</p><p>I want you to picture the scene. It’s very important that you get this very clear in your mind. Here’s the table, newspaper, cup of coffee and packet of biscuits.</p><p>There’s a guy sitting opposite me, perfectly ordinary-looking guy wearing a business suit, carrying a briefcase.</p><p>It didn’t look like he was going to do anything weird.</p><p>What he did was this: he suddenly leaned across, picked up the packet of biscuits, tore it open, took one out, and ate it.</p><p>Now this, I have to say, is the sort of thing the British are very bad at dealing with.</p><p>There’s nothing in our background, upbringing, or education that teaches you how to deal with someone who in broad daylight has just stolen your biscuits.</p><p>You know what would happen if this had been South Central Los Angeles. There would have very quickly been gunfire, helicopters coming in, CNN, you know. . .</p><p>But in the end, I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do: I ignored it. And I stared at the newspaper, took a sip of coffee, tried to do a clue in the newspaper, couldn’t do anything, and thought, what am I going to do?</p><p>In the end I thought, Nothing for it, I’ll just have to go for it, and I tried very hard not to notice the fact that the packet was already mysteriously opened.</p><p>I took out a biscuit for myself. I thought, That settled him. But it hadn’t because a moment or two later he did it again. He took another biscuit.</p><p>Having not mentioned it the first time, it was somehow even harder to raise the subject the second time around. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice . . .” I mean, it doesn’t really work.</p><p>We went through the whole packet like this.</p><p>When I say the whole packet, I mean there were only about eight biscuits, but it felt like a lifetime. He took one, I took one, he took one, I took one.</p><p>Finally, when we got to the end, he stood up and walked away. Well, we exchanged meaningful looks, then he walked away, and I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back.</p><p>A moment or two later the train was coming in, so I tossed back the rest of my coffee, stood up, picked up the newspaper, and underneath the newspaper were my biscuits.</p>",
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"en": "<p><span class=\"h-card\" translate=\"no\"><a href=\"https://beige.party/@purplepadma\" class=\"u-url mention\">@<span>purplepadma</span></a></span> <span class=\"h-card\" translate=\"no\"><a href=\"https://beige.party/@TheBreadmonkey\" class=\"u-url mention\">@<span>TheBreadmonkey</span></a></span> </p><p>Douglas Adams’ Train Station Biscuits Story (or What It Is To Be British)</p><p>This goes on a bit, so you might want to go make a cup of tea first.</p><p>This actually did happen to a real person, and the real person was me. I had gone to catch a train. This was April 1976, in Cambridge, U.K. I was a bit early for the train.</p><p>I’d gotten the time of the train wrong. I went to get myself a newspaper to do the crossword, and a cup of coffee and a packet of biscuits I went and sat at a table.</p><p>I want you to picture the scene. It’s very important that you get this very clear in your mind. Here’s the table, newspaper, cup of coffee and packet of biscuits.</p><p>There’s a guy sitting opposite me, perfectly ordinary-looking guy wearing a business suit, carrying a briefcase.</p><p>It didn’t look like he was going to do anything weird.</p><p>What he did was this: he suddenly leaned across, picked up the packet of biscuits, tore it open, took one out, and ate it.</p><p>Now this, I have to say, is the sort of thing the British are very bad at dealing with.</p><p>There’s nothing in our background, upbringing, or education that teaches you how to deal with someone who in broad daylight has just stolen your biscuits.</p><p>You know what would happen if this had been South Central Los Angeles. There would have very quickly been gunfire, helicopters coming in, CNN, you know. . .</p><p>But in the end, I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do: I ignored it. And I stared at the newspaper, took a sip of coffee, tried to do a clue in the newspaper, couldn’t do anything, and thought, what am I going to do?</p><p>In the end I thought, Nothing for it, I’ll just have to go for it, and I tried very hard not to notice the fact that the packet was already mysteriously opened.</p><p>I took out a biscuit for myself. I thought, That settled him. But it hadn’t because a moment or two later he did it again. He took another biscuit.</p><p>Having not mentioned it the first time, it was somehow even harder to raise the subject the second time around. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice . . .” I mean, it doesn’t really work.</p><p>We went through the whole packet like this.</p><p>When I say the whole packet, I mean there were only about eight biscuits, but it felt like a lifetime. He took one, I took one, he took one, I took one.</p><p>Finally, when we got to the end, he stood up and walked away. Well, we exchanged meaningful looks, then he walked away, and I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back.</p><p>A moment or two later the train was coming in, so I tossed back the rest of my coffee, stood up, picked up the newspaper, and underneath the newspaper were my biscuits.</p>"
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