A Little Bit of Bovver in the Night

‘Well, really, you wouldn’t expect that kind of thing to take place in Surbiton, would you?’ said my taxi driver this morning when I regaled him with the story of the punch-up that had taken place at Surbiton station late the previous night.

Not in Surbiton, Queen of Suburbs, you wouldn’t, I agreed. They don’t normally go in for that kind of thing. Personally, I blame Network Rail. If it hadn’t been for their extremely aggravating signal failure at Clapham Junction that night, I and hundreds of other commuters would not have been so teeth-grindingly delayed at Waterloo Station at gone nine, and perhaps the alcohol-fuelled mouthy numpkin who took a swing at another commuter when they got out of my train at Surbiton station for ‘looking at him funny’ before pummelling him into the door of the Ladies toilet, might have let it pass. And a brave intrepid commuter might not have had to sit on numpkin like a pig wrestling competitor, squashing his face into Platform 4 whilst a big station staff member wrestled punchee into the Ladies like a bear wrangling competitor and other commuters gawked at safe distance. Not however Post Traumatic Commuter, to whom such an incident was red rag to bull.

After long working day and two major delays en route home, 1) when got involved in fracas between female Tibetan bowl dinging ex Birbeck University undergrad squatter and Irish inebriate pick up at South Kensington tube over cross-bred Dobermann’s dinner, and 2) when stuck at Waterloo, Post Traumatic Commuter was not in best of moods when pitching up at Surbiton to change trains.

Possibly, if had considered presence of CCTV might not have lost it so completely when drunk mouthy numpkin queried why intrepid commuter sitting on him. ‘Because you a t****r’ bellowed Post Traumatic Commuter close enough for wishy-washy wet middle class liberal commuter to advise That Not Helping, not that Post Traumatic Commuter gave a t**s. Fortunately British Transport Police arrived just after, avoiding unnecessary additional arrest for public affray.

‘He look at us funny’, bleated numpkin’s friend, as handcuffs snapped around wrists and mouthy numpkin and he were frogmarched off to Surbiton Police Station by two grim-faced Transport Police.

Huzzah for the brave British bobby! And huzzah for the brave British commuter!

‘Let’s hope you are not on CCTV,’ said my friend Marie next morning, bursting into giggles at my horrified response. ‘You might find yourself on YouTube!’

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