Excellent up-turn in weather this week bring out monologue menace on urban and suburban public transport system, sap rising creating urgent need in socially unskilled to go forth and talk very loudly on public transport on telecommunication device about What Happening To Me.
345 and 49 buses to Clapham Junction particularly affected by Monologue Menace. Get bus after work to Clapham Junction, accompanied by delicious, though stale, Portuguese Rice Cake from cake shop at South Kensington Tube station arcade, where cakes are tasty and customers a bit scary. Sit on upper deck of bus and await arrival of phone psychos. Phone psychos signified by indulgence in blistering, ceaseless, joyless monologue, often in obscure accent, at decibel level acutely pitched to inflict maximum annoyance to fellow travellers, which sustain all way to Clapham Junction.
No sooner have sat down when first psycho arrive – smartly dressed blond Teutonic youth, wittering flamboyantly into phone as comes up steps about exotic job, which seem to be in men’s retailers. Phone call too important for him to sit down.
Cease scoffing Rice Cake and rest head on window pane, moaning ‘Oh God, no’. Has effect on phone psycho, who shut down conversation 25 minutes earlier than expected. Useful technique, must use again.
Peace last exactly two minutes when female phone psycho take over baton and keep up moronic monologue all way to Clapham, in deeply grating Afrikaans accent.
At Clapham, purchase cheeseburger to keep going till get home, where astounded to see female customer leaning on counter, stuffing chips in mouth, whilst talking on phone. Say ‘have seen everything now’, several times, to no effect.
Pick up Woking train, where stuck between two phone psychos, one bellowing about dance classes as though bloody Darcy Bussell, other with sunglasses on bald head.
At Esher, have horrible accident when slide down hill at station entrance and do splits as one heel off ankle boot and no time to get repaired as too busy commuting. Slide on knee like Christopher Dean doing Bolero at 1980 Winter Olympics, and rip off skin. Pretend nothing happen, and limp home trying to hide gaping hole in black tights with Waitrose carrier.