Commuter Blues

Perhaps there is something wrong with me that I am unable to ignore the hideous and disgusting habits of my fellow commuters. But once something catches the corner of my eye, I can't seem to leave it alone, even as I feel my blood pressure rising. There is a thirty-something man who has that quite wiry textured, curly short hair and seems to have a compulsion to gently stroke one of the curls at his temple between finger and thumb as he reads his book. For some reason this habit prevents me from reading mine. Now, really, I can see that he should be allowed to persist with this habit if he wants to, and perhaps he has no idea even that he is doing it. But, if I am unlucky enough to be sitting next to him, this gentle stroking (excessively gentle, actually) turns my stomach and has the effect on me of making me want to point out to him what he is doing, and ask him if he realises he can probably get treatment for his possible obsessive compulsive neurotic behaviour. Resisting this urge to give advice, while he carries on doing it, makes me want to actually scream. Perhaps it is I who needs the treatment.

Apart from the noisy schoolchildren and the intrusive sounds of other people's music, sometimes there are people who are, quite simply, utterly revolting. This morning, a middle-aged woman in a tweed suit and flip-flops (I know, I thought it was a very odd combination too) examined what she had just picked out of her ear, idly rolling it between her fingers for AGES, as with her other hand she scrolled her touch screen phone, before flicking whatever it was she cared not where. She then proceeded to get something from her nose and do the same. Presumably she thought she was being discreet, as she continued in this vein until, much to my relief, someone came and sat beside her blocking my view. I was then delighted to note that the someone who sat beside her was a woman who has irritated me in the past by loudly flicking the pages of her newspaper into my territory as she decides which one she actually wants to read.

Good, I thought. Let these two vile people irritate and disgust the hell out of each other.

It is always with relief that I stand by the doors ready to get out at my station. This morning, it was with more relief than usual. As I waited, I happened to glance into first class and suddenly understood why people would pay more to be allowed to travel that way. A smart man in a dapper suit sat, alone and uninterrupted, reading the paper quietly. He glanced up and smiled at me. I smiled back, while entertaining a small fantasy in which he would say, 'Do you by any chance work in the world of publishing? Because if you do, would you like to come and work for me?' and I would say 'As it happens, I do, and I would.' Naturally, I would omit to tell him about my present job as assistant picture editor and one half of the editorial team at an extremely old-fashioned publishers which actually makes calendars.....oh, and postcards.

Disturbia in Suburbia

A couple of weeks ago, I was in my local park walking the dog after work on a tranquil sunny evening. Or at least it was tranquil until I came across some guy out with his family, disturbing the peace by throwing water bombs against the closed aluminium shutter of the park cafe. He was having fun and entertaining his daughter who was about four. The water bombs were making a hell of a racket as they hit the aluminium, and when some of the water sprayed some old geezer who was sitting nearby having a quiet fag, he told the bloke 'That's enough!'

Water-bomb-man was incredulous and started saying how it was only an effing water bomb, not doing anyone any harm etc.

Old Geezer: You've just splashed me with water.
WaterBombMan: F**ing hell! It's only water *swear *swear
Old Geezer: Well, that's enough now, I'm soaked.

WaterBombMan (whose name I shall now change to Psycho) suddenly took on an insane expression and rapidly strode over to the OldGeezer, swearing and making threats- "come here after dark and say that!" - all still in front of his child and another older girl who may also have been his daughter, as well as an older girl who may have been their mother and was surely his girlfriend. Both those children had started to look rather frightened, but this man was far from being able to notice or care about such things. This man wanted to start a fight with the OldGeezer. He was probably in his early to mid twenties, wearing ridiculous over-sized leisure-wear that may have been something to do with American baseball.

I thought (briefly) about asking him whether he was aware he was scaring his children, but thought better of it. He was actually starting to scare me now, even as I walked hurriedly away with the dog. He carried on shouting and riding around on an undersized bike. He rode past me very fast, shouting something about f**ing rednecks and f**ing dogs. Luckily I was wearing dark glasses and so was able to carry on walking as if I'd assumed he couldn't possibly be talking to me.

I hope for their sake those weren't his children, but it sends a chill right through me to think that they had anything to do with such a clearly unhinged and aggressive individual.

Later that week I saw the mother and the two girls in a green car.

The follow week JP was hit by a flying egg from a passing green car when he was on his way home from a run one evening. At least he thought it was a green car. I couldn't help thinking...water-bomb throwers are possibly quite partial to chucking the odd egg out of their windows to entertain themselves and their passengers. Mmm...perhaps I'm just being paranoid.

Is it me, or are there more furious psychopaths out there than there used to be?