...its 01:05, freezing cold and yet again, I've found myself driving the last train to Canterbury. The train smells of a combination of vomit, booze and McDonalds - which was 'nice'. On arrival at our destination, the guard runs up the platform and says she can't wake someone up. I walk back and low-and-behold... one p*ssed business-type, surrounded by empty cans of lager and worryingly, a half bottle of vodka with a straw in it. Having managed just about to wake the guy up (using the guards whistle and some shouting) - the *gentleman* in question opens one eye, looks around, and asks if we've arrived at Bromley yet. On being told he's a good 60miles from his intended destination and there was no service back to London for 5 hours, his immediate response was.... ...yes, you've guessed it... "...well call me an ambulance... I don't feel well..." Thankfully a passing patrol of Kent's finest were found and took charge of the individual - but it really does highlight the growing attitude of the public when it comes to the Ambulance service - that come the party season (or even if it's just Thurs/Friday/Saturday night), 999 = taxi ride to somewhere warm.