I’d not seen my bro in ages so I was rather looking forward to getting out of the office, hopping on the tube and meeting him in our lately-usual in Clapham. We managed to squeeze 3 weeks of conversation into an hour and half period accompanied by 3 ales before departing to our separate dwellings. As usual the tube train south was packed full of sullen commuters largely stood hanging from ceiling rails and moving as one like wheat in a field, no seats were available so I stood by the doors with half of South London behind me and read my book. At the next stop a quarter of the carriage emptied in an exhausted corporate sigh and I saw my chance for a seat, just the one, located at the very end of the carriage. To get it I was going to have to move fast, it was some distance away, I did the maths, if I could jump behind the exiting commuters I could use them to stave off the fresh wave of travellers but those currently standing also began to see an opportunity- I had to go now, still clutching my book I selfishly lurched to the detriment of a suit –fuck you Tory boy, I thought for no good reason and 2 young Asian men who just should’ve been faster… Yes, I was home and dry
As I sat down I noticed the smartly dressed blonde to my left, whilst facing forward with her head slightly down, she was virtually white-eyed in order to stare across at me. I could feel her eyes burning into what I thought was my face, I glanced over to her and she looked down, but then almost instantly I could see in my peripheral vision that she was again staring across at me… then I noticed what was wrong.
In her hand was the very same book I was reading… if that wasn’t enough, we were on exactly the same fucking page.
I almost wanted to say something but it seemed ridiculous, besides, I was feeling the effects of a tirade of cold clinical surrealism and presumed her reaction was similarly obscure. The passengers facing us had noticed we were reading the same book and were silently observing this peculiar tableau, one lady was smiling, another bore a permanent expression of lukewarm surprise.
A few stops after the blonde in the suit alighted without a word spoken between us, I discreetly watched her put her book in her bag and leave the carriage to become one with the shuffling tide of tired shoe leather and softly perspiring cotton shirts. I turned the page and headed home.
I’m in a bloody foul mood today.
February 28th, 2008 at 10:51 am
So what was the book?
February 28th, 2008 at 10:58 am
Blood Meridian
February 28th, 2008 at 5:02 pm
I’m reading a Tudor crime novel at the minute. It’s alright.
Hey hey? That was a good ‘un, eh? Eh?
Hello?
February 28th, 2008 at 5:59 pm
Foul mood … foul mood Sir … nah, live my live, have my neighbours and and and … (looks for something to hit VERY hard due to her own bad day). Nice blog by the way.
February 29th, 2008 at 10:44 am
Thank you
February 29th, 2008 at 11:57 am
Just thought I’d log in to disagree with Heavenly Demise. I’ll log off again now. I might log in again later to leave another comment.
*logs off, as usual*
February 29th, 2008 at 12:07 pm
You ruddy shitz
(I’m still trying to sort this logging in/out shit out/in etc)
February 29th, 2008 at 2:09 pm
Hang on a minute! There’s processes you have to go through on Piqued before you can say something … nearly there … just typing in my WordPress name … any minute now … AHA!
I’m not a shit.
*logs off again*
February 29th, 2008 at 2:11 pm
I said shitZ
February 29th, 2008 at 2:52 pm
Bloody hell fire … I’m spending half my day logging in and out of Piqued just so I can leave a comment. Isn’t there something you could do about this?
February 29th, 2008 at 3:16 pm
*breaks down in a puddle of tinkle*
February 29th, 2008 at 3:52 pm
You are both VERY strange males. I suggest you both, sit down in front of a nice big, open fire, smoking a Cuban each, whilst, sitting in big, comfortable chairs and resolve this like the grown-ups that you are. The Cubans, gentleman, are of the tobacco variety, I only mention this because experience has taught me never to smoke an, actually, Cuban – they get somewhat hot under the collar about such things …