Just so enormous
London Bridge station has standard platform messages that warn you to behave under the omniscient gaze of CCTV. A man’s voice extolls this on my platform, but simultaneously I hear the same message in female tones from the other side of the station. Is it deliberate this bi-gender stereo? Does it sate our metrosexual equality drive? Is it an unsubtle mind-game on the part of the fat controllers?
The train isn't so much sardines, as jam. I'm seated, or rather I'm squished between two builders. They sit with legs akimbo. Seemingly their balls are just so enormous that they simply can’t tuck their knees together.
Nicky once told me of counselling sessions she'd had to help her deal with panic attacks. Her therapist had her play the 'bad, but' game. Here she was encouraged on sensing the onset of an attack to tell herself that it was bad, but (insert scenario of how it could be worse.)
How this is supposed to help I have no idea.
Imagine your panic attacks are caused by spiders. You spy a spider and tell yourself “It’s bad, but it could have been a tarantula!” At which horrible thought the panic attack is completely cured by the ensuing heart attack.
Anyway, this train is bad, but...
One more stop to go and then I’m free (I’m free I tell you, I’m free.) Glancing out of the window at the disembarking passengers, my eye is caught by a chap stood right up against the railings facing away from us. I guess he’s lighting a cigarette or something, then I see him do that little jig men do when they’re shaking a leg. What audacity. Taking a leak in front of a trainload of commuters. Plenty of passengers are reading papers, nodding along with their iPods, or getting their Blackberry fix. Am I alone in gazing out? I catch the builder opposite rolling his eyes. Evidently not.
The train isn't so much sardines, as jam. I'm seated, or rather I'm squished between two builders. They sit with legs akimbo. Seemingly their balls are just so enormous that they simply can’t tuck their knees together.
Nicky once told me of counselling sessions she'd had to help her deal with panic attacks. Her therapist had her play the 'bad, but' game. Here she was encouraged on sensing the onset of an attack to tell herself that it was bad, but (insert scenario of how it could be worse.)
How this is supposed to help I have no idea.
Imagine your panic attacks are caused by spiders. You spy a spider and tell yourself “It’s bad, but it could have been a tarantula!” At which horrible thought the panic attack is completely cured by the ensuing heart attack.
Anyway, this train is bad, but...
One more stop to go and then I’m free (I’m free I tell you, I’m free.) Glancing out of the window at the disembarking passengers, my eye is caught by a chap stood right up against the railings facing away from us. I guess he’s lighting a cigarette or something, then I see him do that little jig men do when they’re shaking a leg. What audacity. Taking a leak in front of a trainload of commuters. Plenty of passengers are reading papers, nodding along with their iPods, or getting their Blackberry fix. Am I alone in gazing out? I catch the builder opposite rolling his eyes. Evidently not.
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