Thursday, 11 November 2010

In which I'm rude to a shouty Christian...

It was a packed Victoria line train that had stopped several times between stations and the man next to me closed his eyes and started mouthing and mumbling as if he were giving himself a pep-talk. Then suddenly he started bellowing down the carriage about how a great guy god is, how the Bible is a terrific page turning treat and how really into us Jesus is; how none of the bad things that ever happened mattered because this metaphysical space-hippy really loves us without even being introduced. So I told him to fuck off.

Not the sort of thing I would usually do because a) he can think what he wants b) I'm a tremendous physical coward and he was bigger than me c) it would involve me talking to someone on the tube and I've been in London for too long. But this morning I did tell him to fuck off because actually shouting a load of rubbish down the carriage at 9 in the morning is just arrogant and rude and because I'm having a rough time of it at the moment and Jesus hasn't dropped by with a six pack. The train started up again and he turned and I thought he was going to hit me but he just started rambling on again, directing his breathless rote-learned parrit - fashion nonsense at me directly this time. So I told him to fuck off again. He told me he'd pray for me and I said don't you fucking dare. And then I got off and went to work and remained unsmited for the rest of the day.

Though I did just hurt my ankle emptying a humane mousetrap into the garden. Hmnn.

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