bag lady

Perhaps I have something wrong with my face? Now, woah there people! Before the onslaught begins, I’m simply saying so because there must have been something seriously offensive about me this morning. Did I smell? Was there a big snot bogey hanging from one of my nostrils - could I have done with having the suit jacket of the Tory leader handy to wipe it on? Food in my teeth? (Although the latter is highly unlikely as I don’t eat until I get to work in the morning)

Whatever it was, there must have been something about me that was upsetting the woman that I got stuck next to at Little Place station this morning, and then again as we crammed into the sardine tin masquerading as a suburban commuter train.

She had this bag, you see. Not a particularly HUGE bag by any means, but she just couldn’t seem to stop bashing it into me. As we were gathered there in our little door-awaiting huddles on platform 2, she repeatedly boshed me in the legs with it, gradually forcing me inch by inch down the platform. Maybe she thought I was in the optimum position for the doors or something and thought that by edging me to the left ever so slightly with each shunt of her bag, she could steal my spot? If this was her intention, the train driver scuppered her plan and left me grinning smugly to myself; He stopped the train slightly short of the usual stopping point, meaning that her repeated bag beating antics actually only served to move me to the perfect spot for this particular service.

Ok, perhaps I am reading too much into this ever so slightly.

Or am I? For it didn’t stop there! She continued her impression of a soldier with a battering ram at a barricaded fort door when we got on to the train and pulled away from Little Place station. No amount of sighing and looking pointedly down at my legs and her bullying bag provided me with any relief from the attack. Some people have a nervous twitch or a lazy eye. Maybe this woman was afflicted with a bag-swinging tic. I don’t know if Tourettes stretches to cover that, but I certainly think it ought to. Thankfully for me, she disembarked at the next station, leaving the second half of my journey to be bag-bumping free - although the woman who took her place could have represented Britain at the World Sniffing Olympics (if it existed). Just blow your bloody nose woman.

Ah, the joys of London public transport.

Oh, and I am back at work, although out of the office for most of the day at meetings. Rah.