I recently travelled from here to there on a bus, two trains and a tube. The last leg was a replacement coach service. There weren’t many seats available - a single here and a single there perhaps. As I boarded, a man signalled to me before pointing eagerly to the chair next to him. ‘Sit here, sit here’ he said as though we were old friends on a magical mystery tour. I imagined jam sandwiches in tin foil squashed into a doughy mess in his pocket. He looked a little older than me but not unattractive. A tad scruffy perhaps…fingerless gloves always have a touch of the Steptoe about them I think. He was wiry and bearded, and wearing a beanie. It’s my opinion that if a hat of any description is worn by a man when it isn’t absolutely necessary (…on a bus for example) it’s probably hiding a degree of baldness. Well, that’s what I imagine anyway. If only they knew they were worrying about nothing. If only they knew that we women don’t care. We don’t give a freaking or proverbial monkey’s about hair once we are past a certain age, because we are too busy worrying about whether the sexy bald guy has noticed the size of our arse. Men who actually suit hats, are young enough to have a full head of hair and are wearing the hat to celebrate. Tufts of it are usually escaping coquettishly here or there. By the bye, if it’s actually snowing, feel free to wear the hat. It makes sense.
Anyway, my newest companion was wearing fingerless gloves and a beanie on the bus. He smelt vaguely of several days’ travel without a flannel and I have watched enough detective dramas to clock a 3 day-old 5 o’clock shadow. There was something about the droop of his eyelids and childlike excitement at a Sunday night coach trip, that led me to believe he was pissed. I channelled my inner Benedict Cumberbatch (always an entertaining night) and deduced that the man-child had, in all likelihood, been keeping himself topped up without over-spilling, for the duration of his journey. He was incredibly annoying but quite famous in quite an impressive yet terribly naff sort of a way.
I’ll tell you more tomorrow…or the next day…maybe.