There are days when I really hate those people who shout into mid air whilst sitting on the train.
In my youth you knew where you were with people who talked to themselves. They were experiencing psychotic episodes and best avoided in case they mistook you for a demon. Nowadays you have to look discretely for the mobile phone and earpiece. Whatever happened to decorum? To the young woman on the train yesterday: I’m terribly sorry about your cousin’s gynaecological problems but actually I think that you’re wrong. The manager in the pizza takeaway where you answer the phone was right to tell you that taking the day off to see a relative in hospital who has a faintly dodgy fanny is a sackable offence. I hope he gives you your marching orders.
There are days when I hate the scrum at the tube station. I want to shout at people that I’m actually a solid and can’t be passed through like a vapour, however hard you push. They’ve yet to invent a human who can be walked into and won’t make a resounding thudding noise. I want to proclaim the virtues of personal hygiene and cologne and that train seats are for people, not your tacky fringed handbags.
There are days when I want to the stand up in the cinema and shout at all the people who are discretely whispering asides to their companions. I want to ask them all to go home and watch television in the comfort of their own sitting rooms where they can make inane comments to their hearts’ content and not be irritating the hell out of the rest of the paying public with their hissing babble and verbal nonsense.
There are days when I want to scream at the people blaring music from their cars as they drive along. I can almost cope with the Gangsta Rap. If there’s music to be blared out of a car window then that’s your tune of choice. Elton John, though? I seriously heard someone belting Elton John out of a car stereo the other day. As much as I like the odd vibration, I don’t want my spleen being wobbled about to “Nikita”, thank you very much.
There are days when I consider a move to a remote island. Then I remember how much I hate not having a mobile phone signal. I’d get annoyed by the cows and sheep and how they just kind of stand there, the way they look at you and not to mention all that public defecation. The birds would fly the wrong way, the grass would be too tall/too short or too green.
You know what though? Other days not one bit of this annoys me. Life can be odd like that.
Chris is a theatre and book obsessed Midlander who escaped to London. He’s usually to be found slumped in a seat in a darkened auditorium.
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