Grey haired, slightly dozing "Old Dear" - "Oh, that's mine, officer"...Immediately the response - "Right...", sound of stomping feet...(my head had already shot round to watch them the second the door opened)...
"YOU!", (deep intake of breath, flick of focus) "These your bags???" - sharp nod taken as a "yes, sir"...
"WHO OWNS THESE?? COME ON, WAKE UP!!!", gesticulating sharply at some more luggage...
"Yeah, yeah, these are mine!" says a suited Japanese gentleman, thankfully okay with the lingo...
(I then held my rucksack up to show them)
...and on they went up the train....a bit of pop art I took a snap of sprang to mind -
- I spent the last bit of the journey home politely entertaining the aggressive ramblings of an obviously gay (definitely well connected) self-confessed amphetamine addict who had half his teeth missing (which I could understand)...it was coma-inducingly tiresome, despite the number of famous fashion designers he knew and had partied with last night, and blah had done this and Imran Khan had done that, and David Bowie had been in an *outragous* suit..blah..blah..blah)...*yawn*
Bloody hell....what a journey home... :(
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