May means May
Passengers on the 11:12 Eurostar return to Britain have had a pointless argument over who is driving. The train, which is rapidly descending below the sea, has not had anyone in control of it for several miles.
Occupying the driver’s carriage is the alleged driver Theresa May. Occasionally, her robotic voice will sound from the tannoy in an attempt to reassure passengers that she has things under control. It is ineffective, as are her attempts to steer.
Crammed in second class, some sitting on the floor, many passengers want to hasten their escape from the continent. However, their limited horizons mean they haven’t gone for a wander and noticed there is actually plenty of room for everyone on the train, if the people in first class shared a bit.
They can’t be blamed though as first class is primarily occupied by people who are confident that if the train went faster it would be impossible for it to come off the rails. “My great grandfather was narrowly pipped to be the Captain of the Titantic,” said one alleged former SAS officer (in the Territorial Army), “he’d have increased speed and shown that iceberg who’s boss.”
In the rear carriage, a charming grandpa in a British Rail cap is regaling everyone with stories of how it used to be. Of Casey Jones half pound burgers, and a unified timetable. He’s confident in his stories of how he could drive the train better, but it’s a long walk to the front and he’d like to take his time.
No one has noticed yet that he has hung his Rail Riders cagoule over the emergency brake, which he could 100% pull if he wanted to, if he wasn’t busy fantasising about telling everyone how he would have averted the crash if he was driving.
