late Metro home

Walking home late from a day of unappreciated overwork; having skipped lunch for the nth time and unable to remember if I’d fed the cat before running out that morning… bursting cumbersome heavy bag falling from my shoulder and as I pulled it up over my dropping jacket I slipped on the stairs two flights straight down to the desolate metro station, landing in such a way that my shins banged against the marble as my shoe flew in an arc over my back past my head and into the wall opposite. I lifted myself, gathered the array of bits that had spewed forth from my bag (some of which required remounting the stairs – going back down – realising something was just a bit further up – going back up and then back down again) and stuffed them back in my #g*d^m%f! bag then hobbled over to regain my shoe.

Disconcerted and pissed off I pushed through the doors to the entrance area where the dirty turnstyles failed to glint under flickering fluorescents far in the distance behind a bank of dispensing machines and a photo booth. Photo booth from behind which jumped out two crunchy smelling of sweat bony teenage girls dressed in charity shop clothing. The one with a box cutter in her hand was agitated and bouncy like a fighter; the one with dirt in her hair stood back and watched like she was grading theatre exercise.

(screaming like a hearing impaired crack addict): GIVE ME YOUR BAG OR I’LL CUT YOU (independently animate arm waving a cutter in front of the scrappy body in syncopated rhythm to the bouncing feet)

Get out of my way; I’m in a hurry.

(missed a beat – thoughts trying to formulate behind vitric eyes – quick glance back to the observer then glass balls front) GIIVE MMEE YOUR BAAG OR I’LL CUT YOU (jabs into the air with the cutter but feet slowing down)

FUCKING GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY. I don’t have time for this shit I’m in a hurry.

(lack of comprehension – looking back) she doesn’t believe me Don’t You Believe Me? (focusing front while pulling back her arm) DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND I’M GOING TO CUT YOU

DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? I’M TELLING YOU TO GET OUT OF MY WAY. (barrelling through to the turnstyle – ticket in hand after having collected bag items post fall)

I don’t get it, she didn’t believe me, why didn’t she believe me? (the offshoot faction regrouping against the photo booth – muttering and shoulders hung)
Shuffling down two more flights of stairs I got to the platform just as the train arrived; ankle and arm throbbing. Saw the time, all the shops would be closed by the time I got out so tang and tuna. Woo hoo.


So the anti-Europe party won 25% of the raw votes; but is only expected to win between 1 and 5 seats in the next general election? Testament either to just how entrenched in its right wing myopia the Telegraph is; or just their assuredness that the electoral law will never be amended to be fair?

At least it isn’t the BNP one might think, but too soon as the Conservatives rush to reinforce their own anti-foreigner image by avowing none should be entitled to retirement pensions… If nothing else such rosy welcoming auguries should certainly reduce the influx of overqualified (& relatively cheap) professional workers from countries where bailout and austerity has led to massive unemployment. The bailout and austerity driven by the British way of managing bank activity; their insistence they knew what they were doing when they clearly didn’t…

Could be living in a land of ever increasing xenophobia is still preferable to living on the street back home. Or maybe not.