(4 days on)
On the way home in the afternoon standing on the crowded platform the train door stopped directly in front of me. This is the first time this has ever happened to me.
In a completely packed with elderly and infirm aisle of Sainsbury�s I was patiently and gently guiding my way down. Some horrible powersuit wearing bitch shoved her way into the space I had just moved wheelchairs, trolleys, the crippled and blind to create. She was obviously used to getting her own way and stared at me waiting for me to budge. I stared back. It remained this way for quite some time until a growl may have inadvertently escaped me. She backed up. I would�ve rammed her down anyway. Trainers, falling apart jeans and the hair (and personality?) of a crazed escapee beat shoulder pads, tottery heels and lipstick. I think that somewhere inside still lurks a surly insolent teenager and occasionally it serves me well.
Lying around the other afternoon I was wondering about accidents where people die by having something sharp going through their nose. You know those urban legends where somebody falls on a pen and it goes through the nostrils and up to the brain, piercing them fatally (the end part of a long convoluted train of thought). Then I wondered if anybody else lying around in a post-coital mass of limbs thinks about death by impalement. Then I wondered why people say post-coital. It�s a faintly absurd expression since I don�t think I have ever used the word coital in relation to sex. Then Sloce asks what I�m thinking about and I sigh peacefully and say �aah nothing�.
Soso