One of the various mysteries in life...

What on earth do women chat about? How does the collaboration of four average looking ladies sitting on the same table of my carriage boarding for the West Midlands whilst in such beautiful surroundings of North Yorkshire manage such randomised endless bullshit? Tonight for instance, a jolly good laugh however the virus has clearly struck the lady too especially on her phone but I excuse this seeing as it's her.

Now, I may be extremely taciturn and when I do actually speak with interest with a stranger/associate/trusted it is strictly pragmatic and wholly different to how I would speak to a lady. My stance as I basically follow the same pattern of questioning: 'How you doing?', 'Are you still with so and so?', 'Did you watch the match/game/fight/TV show?' and importantly, 'What are you doing after your degree/apprenticeship/on guard in the Army/job?'. I only care of persons with aspirations and character, I realized this upon my journey which I was suffering from the absent minded women and I heard amongst the haze of giggly voices 'I can't believe you did that!’ I nearly stood up, glared them down armed with my GQ magazine with the delightful Megan Fox on the cover (not cool, I know but it was that or the dreaded Loaded or worse... Nuts or Zoo).

Amusingly, I played my associates mix tape loudly on my laptop in the 'Quiet Zone' which is like a red rag to a bull (just like fire extinguishers in my school years I luckily got put in isolation for weeks) regardless of the fact my whole life is a 'Quiet Zone' hence the hearing aid I had in when I should have two. Which may explain my reserved self in a social context, I have to communicate mostly via lip reading; it's tiring so I stick to the pattern thus preserving energy for more enjoyable past-times or occasionally blame my hearing loss hoping they would leave me in peace which I'm aware is evil and sophist.

So, I ask again... What is it that women process within themselves that allow such irrational conversation? It is an evil spirit descended from months no sex/undesirable sex and too much make up/booze/fake tannery or is it me that has the issue? Am I too blinkered in my socializing that I may, shockingly one day ask something completely random and friendly like 'Wow... that's rather nice your jacket MATE, where did you get that from?' provoking a furious response if in Yorkshire and possibly be murdered but at least I'd feel like a 21st Century Twit, right? I couldn't think of anything worse.

On a lighter note; I've finished my second draft of Vendetta of Silence and I'm so sick of it that I shall enter it with a warning on top, 'Do not read if you are depressed'. I hope they recognize my desire to be the Manchester Young Persons Writer and emulate in some way the great Simon Armitage (Merciless Public said I have a man crush on him, this is not the case) however the downside is that I'd have to converse with more delusional people or hippies as I call them.