One Day More

Some days I’m mean; snarky with students, lazy, deceitful and I eat really bad food.  Some sublime days, I manage to combine all of these vices in one gesture; I once confiscated a 10p bag of crisps from a sneaky child, declaring them an example of everything ill in Western civilisation.  15 minutes later, back to the door, I inhaled these little morsels of evil in record time, guiltily pretending to check emails all the time.  

 

That same day I ate two scotch eggs over a sink.  I had gone maverick.

But before you think of shopping me in to Michael Gove, let me share my theory.  And I’ll share it through example if I may.  This morning I’m travelling to London.  First class, don’tchee know.  Although it’s not first class as you know it; wider aisles: yes.Little white cloth headrests tht remind me of fondant fancies: yes.  At seat services: NO.  Due to the hardy perennial “staff shortages”, we will be forced, poor wee mites, to schlep down to Coach C, forcing our way through several carriages which can be only be described as housing the cast of Les Mis, with poor people wailing nd selling their children for a bag of Murray Mints.  The hush of privilege is disrupted.  I hear a man behind me complain in baritone; he and his wife are disabled, Coach C is too far.  The guard responds, echoigh the melody but changing the tone: there is nothing he can do, the complementry snack packs are at the front of the train.  How very Javerre.

 

And suddenly, 24601, I step forward.  I think of the stolen crisps.  I’m ready to atone.

I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear – would you like me to get the snack pack for you?”

The rest of the carriage falls quiet, perhaps out of respect for my magnitude, but possibly just listenining to the weirdness of 2 human adults unfamiliar with each other, negotiating a snack pack.

The elderly couple demur, but I think of the scotch egg and persevere.

Ït’s no problem.  Coffee or tea?” 

I set off a hero, the spectre of evil and illicit snacks vanquished.  The couple are overwhelmed with gratitude On my return they try to repay my act of kindness by starting a conversationabout Miranda Hart.  But it’s too late: i’m the leader of our coach now, so I smile and nod my way out of it.  As if signalling my authority to the rest of the cohort, I do the unthinkable and give my snack pack to a young boy n the otehr side of the aisle.  By this point, every other passenger is in love with me.  And I’ve also just moved into the black with my good deed bank account.The snack pack giveaway puts me one in the clear.

 

So I reach this salient point at this salient time of year.  One:  good deeds can be stored up and karma rebalance itself, particularly if it is scotch egg related.  Secondly, any journey on Public Transport can be made epic throught the judicious application of Les Miserables.

 

 

 

 

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