I am home..at last!
Awoke this morning in Manchester with period pains from hell ( I wish the government would legalise CRACK once a month for women)..the journey loomed ahead, so I upgraded to first class and encountered a well dressed oppressive old man who demanded my newspaper (wot is it with me and fucking loonies on trains?).
this is how it went…
I sit in an empty first class carriage, happy to be alone…to quietly bleed and moan. I spread out my newspapers and set about distracting myself from my womb that feels like a fucking evil Doberman is trying to eat it’s way out.
An elderly couple come on and sit three seats in front of me. She is stooped and very old but a pretty looking old Dame, he is tall well dressed in check trews and sparkling white shirt.
He looks over at me then stumbles up to the seat across the aisle from mine and stared at my newspaper, then flashed a glance at me…basically communicating to me that he wants to read my Sunday Newspapers, but wants me to ‘offer’ them to him. I am no mood to placate old grumpy old men, he can ask me if he wants to read my papers.
He sits there and I can see out of the side of my vision that he intently staring at the newspaper…still…he then gets some courage and reaches over with his liver spotted gnarled hand and simply grasps them off my table in front of me.
My reflex action is there before he can escape to his seat..I grab at his wrist, pull out my IPOD earplug and say “That is my newspaper sir”
His reumy old eyes flinch and he diverts his stare and gazes through me and mutters ” I thought they belonged to the train company”
me-“Well even if that was true would it not be at least polite to ask me instead of grabbing at them? If I did that to you, you would insist that MY GENERATION had no respect”
He simply stood there watching me whilst holding my freshly bought newspapers, his wife watched with frightened eyes that told me he normally got his own way. Well, not with fucking me he ain’t.
“You could ask me if you can read my papers” I spoke to fill the dead air.
“Can I read your newspaper?” he barked in defiance at me.
“No..no way, not until you learn some manners Old man, now put them down and get back from my table” I hissed.
He threw my Sunday Times on the floor in the centre of the train aisle and threw himself onto his seat.
I simply leaned over and picked it up and sat there in front of him and slowly but very deliberately tore it into long equal strips..one after the other until I had managed to decimate the whole newspaper including magazines and sports sections…the noise ripped the air as I sat there smiling tearing away slowly but happily. There was a huge pile of confetti’ed Sunday news sat there right on my table. I missed nothing, in fact it was theraputic, all that destruction and slashing noise filling the air cured me of my angst and period pains.
The old man sat there, his face going purple, his anger seeped into the carriage, yet I smiled.
Fuck Him…he may be able to bully his poor wee wife, but I am not going to let any man ever bully me or make me feel that I should do anything to keep them happy.
I would have been that wee old woman had I not stood my ground years ago…in fact I think I was her for a short while.
I am the SCOTTISH RIPPER! (of newspapers)_