It has all gone a bit Kerouac

Writing on the fly so to speak has never felt so damn good. The last month has shot by in a blur of naked arses, chickens, objects of desire and a sloshing of happy juice, otherwise known as Sloe Gin.

The trouble with London is that everything is so very impersonal. You see someone one day, you never see them again. However there are a select few who seem to be always there on the same commute pattern as you, but oh well. Still a way of life so impersonal doesn't really give you great chance to get to know people. I mean you see interesting faces, beautiful girls and the odd complete nutter who's talking to a wall/bottle/vision, but you never have the opportunity to get to know such folk. I'm pretty certain that the good looking girl on the tube with loads of apples in bags would be a lovely person to get to know, but after speaking on a 10 minute tube ride, you don't really seem to get anywhere, other than one liners and apple related jokes. "You must have loads of horses, well either loads of horses or one really massive, happy horse".

However there is a bonus to such an impersonal way of life. You can really screw around with people as you know they will never ever see you ever again. Or at least you can hope and pray. When riding the underground, one tends to go for the vertical bars first, these are easiest to hold (well you'd go for a seat first but there's no chance of getting a seat on the Jubilee line at half 7 in a morning). The final options are either stand with the power of your legs to fight the sway of the tube. A risky up taking if you've have a rough evening or a liquid lunch. Therefore you have to submit to all that is wrong with the world and go for the horizontal bars. Which seem so very high up, this is true for someone of a short disposition. I am one of that disposition. At 5ft 6/7, its hard to be anything else other than an arm rest to those over 6ft.

On these bars, considering my height, I do tend to look like I'm doing one half of a Nazi salute. Most tube rides wouldn't know what one is and a majority wouldn't be paying attention anyway. But it is most satisfying to then rub under your nose and stroke your tash area while holding onto that bar. Some people see it and giggle and other stare in amazement. And i know, I'll never see the bastards again.

Other than this, an impersonal lifestyle can bring about great moments to suddenly do something erratic. Staring expressions and crazed eyes being a sure-fire winner. Especially when babies and impressionable children are on the vehicle. Glaring at them "a la family guy monkey" and suddenly stopping when their mother checks to see what the matter is, is somewhat priceless. Or when reading a book, suddenly before turning the page, look up an say to whoever is watching "I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT!!!!" is somewhat awesome. It makes them so uncomfortable, some smile, other stare in disbelief. This one works really well when it comes to reading a newspaper.

Dribbling. I shan't say anymore on that one.

Speaking of dribble, Selfridges is shit. There's not alot in there really. I swear half the people walking around with them little bright yellow shitfridges bags didn't buy anything more than a pencil or a bog roll. Although its a great place to pretend that you're important. "Yes, I'm looking for a a Chanel bag for my wife", "I need a Rolex that goes with my hands". The latter was a particular fave. To reject a 50k watch on grounds of it "making my hands look huge" is a highlight of my month that was.

Still, there is endless opportunity for mischievous play and pranks galore. There is little or no fear of retaliation unless you're targeting some pissed, bald headed bloke who supports Millwall. If you did that, then i suggest running being the best option.

I think i mentioned bald arses earlier, I'd go and check but i really cannot be arsed. But yeah anyways. I get into Stafford station as i was going home for weekend last, and as usual my parents are late so i had to sit around in the station and doss about in general. I might like to add that i usually go to Stoke station but due to poor road traffic and a quieter train on the Stafford route, i decided to go there. Okay it was a wonderfully quiet journey and very fast, 10 minutes fast in fact. However I get to Stafford and WHAM...oddballs, everywhere. Okay, Stoke is no heaven for the mentally secure and those unhinged in regards to sincerity and their own inhibitions. But really though, Stafford was full of nutters. People running in shouting, "where are the trains?!", others shouting at the floor such things as "WHO ARE YOU TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO EH?". Its the floor mate, it will win in a fight. Even if you smash up the tiling, you've got the foundations and hardcore to get through. Assuming you beat it that badly, you've still got the small matter of a few miles of the Earths crust to think about. Lets not even discuss the mantle.

Other than that it seemed to be a loop of people. Walking out one door, re-appearing at another. Very strange, like a Laurel and Hardy sketch of every day life. One person, i swear to god had a different hat on each time. I was going to enquire, when i was completely caught off guard by a woman, no older than 20 walking around with the trousers below her arse, arse showing, not the front arse, that was secured by something or other. But my god it wasn't a pretty sight. No one else seemed to care though, not even the woman shouting at her son "JASON, GET OFF BOB THE BUILDER" poor bob the builder, he moves up and down on his digger for 50p. Such is the life of washed up children's cartoon characters. I saw Thomas the Tank Engine the other day, for 50p you could make him hump a rail track. Poor bastard.

Pah, Ive lost my train of thought now. I hope no people ever read this.