Sleeping Beauty

This is a recent story involving a fellow inmate of mine, who had recently found himself a new girlfriend, or at least, what could have been.
It was a humid September evening, and the gentlemen in question was sat at his rented shanty town abode, watching England's dismal performance against South Africa in the rugby world cup. He had the remote in one hand, and Readers Wives in the other. His flat was convoluted with mirrors, as the man in question is the self proclaimed 'Handsome One'. A true gift to the world from the lord above. Self praise is no praise. I have not heard anyone else call him this, but for the story, he is, 'The Handsome One'.
Just as he was turning to the last few ads in the magazine he was 'reading', his phone bleeped like R2D2, and he received a text from his latest squeeze. Did I mention that he had over achieved massively? Anyway. She had been out with friends and they had gone home, but she was not far from her new fixture, so she thought they could meet up. She was only four stops away on the underground after all. 'The Handsome One' was up like a shot, looking in mirrors like Narcissus, and preparing himself for the meeting. Perhaps feeling a bit shy, he thought he needed some assistance, so he called on a fine bottle of corner shop rocket fuel, which doubled as red wine. Grabbing his trusty tankard, which he won for swimming a metre at primary school, he proceeded to guzzle the entire bottle at awesome pace, and was feeling the effects shortly after leaving the flat.
With a bounce in his stride 'The Handsome One' was looking forward to the evening ahead. "I might get lucky" he thought. If not, at least England got stuffed. 'The Handsome One' is not from these shores by the way, which is his excuse for what happened from here on.
At the station he reviewed the rolling boards through blurry wine vision, and made an executive decision on his planned route to meet 'the squeeze'. The day had gone so well so far, and it could surely only get better. He boarded the train, sat next to the window, got very comfortable, and went on his merry way....................... About two hours later he woke from a deep slumber to find himself in a decent mess. He had not only fallen asleep on the train, (he has a history of public transport narcolepsy), but he was informed by the guard, who saw he required assistance, that he had in fact originally caught completely the wrong train anyway, and was never on target to meet 'the squeeze'. As the guard chuckled to himself, 'The Handsome One' reached into his pocket to find he had 6 missed calls and 2 messages. The last has since gone undisclosed, but I believe this was the clincher in sealing the demise of the relationship. He left the station, found he was miles away, and the area looked like a scene from Fight Club, with gangland boundaries, he decided to seek refuge in the tube station, sleep some more, and worry about everything the next morning. I think this story has two morals. 1. Don't down a bottle of wine. 2. Ask at the station if you are not quite sure which train to catch.