In training...

I am a commuter. I commute; therefore I am. I belong to a family of commuters. I perambulate along the corridors, stairs and escalators of Brixton, Stockwell, London Bridge and Bermondsey. I am learning the hop skip and jump through the threat of closing doors. I am closer to my fellow commuter than I ever cared to be; I can see their pores, smell their deodorant, inspect the lint on their coats. I am mastering the art of the sliding eyes when caught looking. I can study the tube map on the wall for minutes on end and read the newspaper over the shoulder of my neighbour. I am subtle in my facial expression to indicate that it wasn’t me who opened my lunchbox. I can tighten my lips along with the best of them when the PA announces minor delays on the Northern Line. I can dodge the slow ones in the walkways, or walk close to their heels, depending on my mood. The world is my Oyster (card).

What a riot...

And I missed all the action but here's a second hand version. We went to a birthday party last weekend in the back room of an East End pub. The back room was really cool, mostly due to one of those seventies disco dance floors with the squares that light up. It was a combined 30th birthday with great entertainment - some live music, some DJs and VJs. Steven had lent his PA for the party and when it came time for home Steven decided not to leave it there overnight. So he went out to find a minicab to take us home. He was gone for ages. So I packed up the PA, scowling some as I did since I'd already moved the PA that day, bloody hell, and now I was doing it again at 2am.

Little did I know that all hell had broken loose in the front bar. Just as Steven got there some B-boys who had crashed the party earlier began tearing up, having a go at everyone in the front bar and breaking furniture. And by silent agreement the rest of the people in the front bar formed a wall, moving forward to force the boys outside. It worked but the boys weren't too happy and, grabbing some of those enormous heavy plastic white or orange road blocks from nearby, proceeded to throw them through the front windows of the pub.

Eventually some police showed up and people felt safe enough to leave. So yeah, leaving the PA in the middle of that war zone was not an option. And I missed it all.