Well, this is my first blog. A catchy title I'm sure you'll agree. After years of bottling everything up at the ridiculousness that happens to me, a minor incident last night which caused me to burst into tears on the escalator between the Jubilee and Central lines at Bond Street station, inspired me to vent my spleen in the hope that it will stop me spontaneously combusting in my bedroom one evening. Following a slight tangle betwixt scarf and headphones in the tube carriage I wasn't up on my feet as quickly as I should have been. By the time I got to the door it had already been open for at least two seconds (as I'm sure you're aware, tube time is like dog/human years—one minute=five) and one woman had got on. The seven other people behind her, including a freakishly tall man accompanied by a freakishly fat woman, proceeded to form a human shield between me and the platform. Despite my plaintive "excuse me"s they refused to let me through, until I was forced to throw myself at said shield using my army surplus rucksack as a battering ram, in a move which Jonny Wilkinson would have been proud of. Though thankfully without the fat lip (only because the fat woman missed me).So, here it is. And even if no one ever reads it, if it stops me becoming a small pile of ashes on my bedroom floor, I'll consider it a success.
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