Temper Temper

Oh boy what a grumpy lot we were on the train this morning. Not helped by a city boy (complete with loud pin-striped suit) who had monopolised half the floor space in one of the two-by-three seats with his wheely suitcase. Nor by the mouthy schoolgirl who ended up shouting at another passenger for brushing her with her coat as she clambered on to the last remaining seat past city-boy’s suitcase. Nor, indeed, by the eye-watering fumes of a schoolboy’s aftershave (or possibly pre-shave – I couldn’t see any stubble) that was spreading almost visibly out from the seat beside me. And all this in the quiet coach, too. Lord knows what it must have been like in one of the rowdy ones. Monday morning blues? or Pre-Valentine’s day nerves? Certainly neither the schoolkids nor the city boy looked as though they would be weighing their cards rather than counting them in the morning…

Meanwhile, an update on my previous post about my new best friend – I got approached by a completely different drunk this morning and warned about the inadvisability of leaving my bike in the underpass at Vauxhall (I may have paraphrased a bit). This is twice in the space of a week & raises the question of whether: a) I come across as particularly drunk-friendly and approachable (and if so, how to stop) or b) they are cooking up some sort of a bike protection racket where, third-world-style, one of them offers to look after your bike in return for a small upfront free, while the other hovers menacingly in the background to warn you of the consequences of not taking them up on it. I shall keep you posted

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