Small Child: (At a decibel loud enough to rupture ear drums) DAW-AN! DAW-AN! DAW-AAAAAAN!*
SC: (Brief pause) (Whispers) Daw-aaaaan…
Well, he’s technically doing as he is told I suppose**
*His brother is called Darren
** His Mum just hissed “You’re so annoying…”. Someone needs gin.
Dear Mum on the bus
While I am incredibly jealous of your snazzy array of yoga pants* please can you stop yelling at your daughter.
Every bus journey I’ve seen you and your family on for the last few weeks has been punctuated with your shrill cawing**. Only at one of the three kids though. The one that is getting in trouble at school. The one who doesn’t seem to be allowed to do any little thing without you exploding in her face. The one who seems desperate for some of the positive words you give to the older girl.
Yelling clearly ain’t working. She is clearly about 8, old enough to try maybe having a conversation with instead.
Also, you called her Destiny. Jesus Christ woman…
* Genuinely, they look so freaking comfy!
** It is 8am, please use your inside voice.
I used to wear my hair in blonde pigtails like you little girl.*
I used to be buzzing with excitement for school like you little boy.
You both look about 6 years old. One of you has just exclaimed “I can’t wait to see Miss Barrowman again!** Its going to be so much fun!”
I hope you never lose that joy and that love for school. Having listened only days ago to three 14 year olds verbally tearing their classmates and teachers apart, and boasting of being arrested, it is nice to see some childhood innocence again.
“We’ll see each other at play time right?”
They are planning to share notes.
I think my heart just broke a little bit.***
* I still do for roller derby. I have grown into my ears now at least.
** Please tell her this. It will make her day.
*** Also ignore anyone who tells you girls and boys can’t be friends. Start being a feminist early. Both of you.
So I recently moved house and now commute on a bus instead of a train*. I have said goodbye to all my train regulars and am starting to identify bus regulars.
Darth Child I hope will become one of these.
She is currently singing the ‘It’s raining, it’s pouring’ song. However she doesn’t know that bit, she only knows the words ‘man is snoring’.
So she is ‘dum de dumm’ing the beginning. Slightly incorrectly.
She is dum de dumming the Imperial March from Star Wars**.
The Empire has never been so cute.
* My 1 hour 20 commute is now 35 minutes. I am getting so much sleep.
** Someone has clearly very well educated this three year old. Kudos to them.
Hello, welcome to Phone Calls 101. I will be your tutor today and I will be educating you on the very basics*. We start today with a very important lesson:
How To Take A Phone Call On The Train.
Firstly, your phone will ring. Try to remember what your ringtone is, this always helps. Personally I have a very loud rock song which makes me jump every goddamned time.
Secondly, go ahead and press the answer call button, or swipe right or whatever the iPhone 100x does these days.
Done that? Good! Now here is the hard bit.
Hold the phone to your ear, and in a regularly volumed voice, say hello.
Wait, no – what are you doing Jessica? No don’t activate the loud speaker! Don’t shout into the phone you are holding on your lap! The microphone is built into the base for a reason Jessica! Don’t… Oh heck… No. We did not all want to hear your friend conplain about her sex life, not this early on a morning.
You fail the class. Please leave**
* You want to learn about using your headphones properly? That’s How Not To Be A Dickhead 204, down the hall.
** Or at least move down the carriage so I don’t have to listen to you.
It’s local election time and I am moving house soon so am at a loss as to if it is prudent to vote*. But I think I have found the man to follow sat opposite me on the train.
He is eating a ham and cheese sandwhich at 8:30am.
This is a leader the world** needs. Someone who thinks outside the box and isn’t afraid to go against popular opinion, who does what he knows to be right despite the condemmation of other, more traditional parties.
End the sandwhich tyranny! Use more than than just sausage and bacon on your morning teacake***! Eat your teriyaki chicken baguette in the evening! Enjoy an egg bap at midnight! No longer will The Man decide the arbritary times we are allowed to enjoy two slices of bread with a favoured filling!
Now someone go make me a PB&J damnit…
* I likely will though – use it or lose it!
** Local community
*** The CORRECT name for a breadroll without fruit. If it has raisins in it is a bloody FRUIT teacake!
Dear Girl on the Train
You look maybe 15 years old. 16 at most. Your boyfriend maybe 19 or 20. Your eyes are drooping, your skin is flushed, and you are wobbling. You are talking in circles about not very much – girls at school, your parents*. You are sluring.
Wrapping your can of cheap booze in a plastic bag doesn’t stop us from seeing the state you are in. It doesn’t stop the fact that you reek of alcohol.
I want to give you a hug. You look so lost, and so unhappy. I hate to judge but your boyfriend has clearly supplied you and does not care for your wellbeing.
I saw your look of disgust when I looked over at you. I won’t talk to you, because I am a stranger who has had a good amount of privilage in my life. I have no idea what your life has been like to be drunk, underage, in public, at 6pm.
But I hope you are ok.
* Maybe these are actually big things. To a teenager they often are.
I have fallen in love*. This time with Gorgeous Henry who is a bit of a celebrity if all the people coming over the touch him is anything to judge by.
But he favoured me and came right over, sniffing around, the hound dog. His missus is in London but he’s staying with his Granny for a few nights**.
He is so well mannered, sitting on the floor and waiting to be handed a biscuit with little to no complaint.
He could be an Instagram model. I just can’t stop squatting down to stroke his squishy little face***.
This is puppy love.
** Family is important to him.
*** Gorgeous Henry is a pug.
There are two older people* across from me having an entirely unguarded conversation about their struggles with depression.
They are not making any effort to lower their voices or censor their words.
I love it. They are talking about how they find it hard some days to get up, and how they have to push through and get on as often as they can.
The guy has just said “I told my son, if it can happen to me it can happen to anyone you just accept it and deal with it.”
I can’t believe how nice it is to hear mental health discussed in such a matter of fact and open way.
* Woman in her late 60s maybe, man well into his 70s. Proper Yorkshire, no nonsense folk too.**
** ie the last people you expect to talk about this in public.
Today a little girl dropped a dog on my foot.
He was a soft toy so it was ok. I gave it back* and got talking to her Mum. Apparently the aptly named ‘Dog’** is three years old, the girl’s favourite toy ever, and once went missing at Thorpe Park (which is hours away), and they didn’t find him before they went home. Through the power of Facebook though he was reuinited with his distraught little girl – after being found and taken home by a person who lived five minutes drive away!
It’s a small world for stuffed Dogs too***.
* She looked horrified at dropping him. He was very well loved and looked so snuggly.
** who has a doppelganger at home called ‘Friend’.
*** My old childhood soft toy is 30 and still lives on top of my wardrobe. He is an excellent sad day cuddle even as an adult.