It was Friday evening around 7.40. I’d had a long day and wanted to get home but the 207 and 607 buses didn’t seem to be running and the throngs of people assembling at the bus stop, ‘Umbrellas arranged in a sad bouquet,’ did not make me hopeful of getting a seat – or even comfortable standing room. Having read an article about the recent rise in pickpocketing on public transport, I decided to take advantage of Shepherd’s Bush’s recent revamp and get the overground train home…..

However, when I got to the rain-lashed platform, it seemed many other people had been struck by the same idea. I dutifully queued by the door as the passengers got off, but then realised to my horror that everyone was getting on the train at the other side of the door and if i didn’t get on soon I was going to be stranded and standing. I tried to cut onto the bus and a young woman pushed me out of her way, and then after I’d managed to stumble onto the train, she turned around and glared at me. Well really!

I’ve done anger-management classes so I  heroically fought back the urge to roar out something offensive about her appearance,  figuring people in glasshouses shouldn’t throw stones – and as the train pulled away  and I squirmed in my seat I imagined, in that tried and tested manner, that my anger was a helium-filled red balloon and, having let it go, I was watching it soar up up and away into space.

But it kept returning , like a fairground stray dog who’s determined you will adopt him, nuzzling your shins and yelping pathetically.. I had to think this one through..Maybe she’s just one of those pushy career girls who wear a mask of aggression to hide their Bridget Jones loneliness.

Maybe she’d just been sacked that day and wanted some way to vent her anger.

Maybe she was a psychopath and I’d had a narrow escape because if I’d said anything she might have knifed me.

Maybe I look exactly like the boy who broke her heart so badly years ago that she hasn’t been able to love since.

But the through the fog of all the maybes, the truth eventually alighted and stung me on the nose. I’d been in the wrong.

Getting on my connecting train at Willesden Junction ten minutes later, I boarded most gingerly, making sure I wasn’t invading anyone’s space.

Lesson learnt.

Mike

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