We hit the tram yesterday. All on unofficial business, but with the Victoria Line suspended, we needed to get over to Beckenham for Mum’s birthday, so picked it up in Wimbledon. The carriages are all open plan and fairly whizz along at a space-age pace when you’re used to the huffing and puffing of London’s buses. In Croydon, three lads get on – two of them walking past us with music blaring from their mobile phones. The third lad, who I assume is not with them, looks at me and shakes his head and I roll my eyes in best Dad fashion in a moment of mutual exasperation, only for him to reveal himself as part of the gang and immediately shout to his mate ‘Oi, turn your music down, you’re going to head your head kicked in in a minute.’ I have been flushed out.
I hope he doesn’t think I’m going to do anything about it. I’m wearing a suit. I’ve never, ever been in a position ‘to kick someone’s head in’ and today is no exception. Really, don’t turn it off on account of me. It sounds wonderful. I like the tinny effect as it filters through those tiny speakers. I’m still due my statistical mugging – not that I’m asking for it, obviously.
Still, they are soon off and we are soon in Beckenham.
Now, this morning I am hungover and didn’t have a full night’s sleep (thanks again Thomas), but I do have a disturbing image in my head of Mum in roller-skates draped around a bus-stop. No, surely just an odd, dream. Oh.
This lady is 60.