Mornings

So, there I am, quite happily ignoring the world in general, reading Alastair Reynolds "Century Rain" on the train into work. I happen to glance up and look around (dunno why. part nosiness, part rest-my-eyes-from-small-print) when I see some bloke in a suit staring at me. Now, I was a somewhat tempestuous little bastard as a teenager, which would account for my first possible step in my mental pathways of how to behave.

I created a list of options. First, respond with the stereotypical shaven-headed response of Whaddafuckaryoostarinat? Secondly, (getting older...) ignore it and pretend it didn't happen (a very British reaction "I must have misread the situation"). Thirdly, and this is my somewhat twisted sense of humour which occasionally has a habit of backfiring on me, was to blow him a kiss.

Well, I went for option three. Holy crap, I've never seen someone so interested in a fog-shrouded landscape that wasn't expressly looking for a lesser-spotted something-or-other. How we laughed. Well, I did.

I hope I'm not the only person that thinks like this. All the time.

Chow. No, wait, that's food. Or a dog.

Ciao. No, wait, that's pretentious.

Back soon :).




Ish.