I am handing in my Lady Gaga essay. I’m on the train. Everything is going smoothly so far- I caught an 85 bus which took me right down to the station, and there was no queue so I got a ticket in time for the train…
Now I’m sat on the train. A woman has parked her buggy outside the toilet and is screaming at her kids.
“Do that again and I’ll hit you on the hand very hard!”
“Waa-” Abrupt silence.
2 minutes later.
“I mean it! SHUT UP!!!!” her shout echoes down the carriage.
As middle-aged women turn round in motherly concern, I decide it’s time to drown her out with some Kanye.
I had a dream last night that me and Esther had a baby. More of a nightmare really. I aged a lot that night.
“Was it nice?” Esther asks when I tell her in the morning.
“It was difficult” I say diplomatically. This banshee on the train settles it. No kids till I can stand to be near them in public. No kids till I have a personality transplant.
Why would anyone choose to be tested to the brink of sanity by screaming, puking, shitting sacks of stress? In my dream, Linda sat on our baby’s head like she does to me in the morning, and we had to rush it to the hospital.
Who in their right mind would choose kids over pets? You can’t legally pet your kids. You can kid your pets though (“cheese! cheese!” Esther promises Devo when he runs away. He comes sprinting back expectantly. “Like fuck” she mutters as he is shoved back on the lead).
I look out of the train window and think ‘If someone was sat here who cared about beautiful scenery, they’d think it was awesome’ As it was, I turned away in apathy.
The boy opposite me is tapping his foot at the same time as me. What are the chances that we are listening to the same song? Would it be weird to ask him? My inappropriate interest in strangers is going to get me in trouble. Curiosity maimed the human, as the saying goes.
I’ve glanced around buses before and seen 9 out of 10 people with their faces buried in the same page of the Metro. Synchronise page turning- Go.
Then again it’s usually the Guilty Pleasures double spread because that’s the most likely place to catch sight of some rude bits.
This reminds me of John Cooper Clarke
I guess that’s what the Sun, Mirror and Sunday Sport are for.