Damn, I have accidentally found myself being drawn into a publicity stunt.
The whole pineapple/lemon thing is a set up to garner advertising for Fruit Pastilles and like some kind of foolish clod I have fallen into the trap. Still go and vote if you will, although this democratic test is for actual fruit pastilles rather than the lollies. Ironically I actually would prefer a pineapple fruit pastille to a lemon one, but in lolly form the pineapple disgusts me.
After a poor night's sleep full of nightmares about bombs and death (I don't know what has set all that off, it's not like the world is in a mess at the moment or anything) I had a paranoid day, sensing danger around every corner. As I made my way around London, a disproportionate about of people seemed to be getting in my way wheeling suitcases in front of me and everyone on the tube seemed to have much bigger backpacks and bags than usual. I was leaning on the little cushioned bit by one of the sliding doors in a not entirely full carriage and a youg Australian man asked me to move so he could slot his rucksack in next to me. It was the biggest one I had ever seen and I felt a bit aggrieved at being disturbed for no reason, when I noticed a sign saying something along the lines of "Priority for Luggage" so I couldn't complain. Also he was big and could carry a massive rucksack so I didn't want to get into a fight with him so I just scooted over a bit and tutted. But in my suspicion I wondered if the bag was loaded to the brim with dynamite and was about to explode all over my beautiful body. It seemed unlikely, surely more probable that he was an Australian backpacker who had packed a lot of stuff, but that was how on edge I felt today.
Later on the way to the unluckiest poker tournament I have ever had (I didn't know that then or I wouldn't have gone) I was standing by the doors again and found myself between two men with unusually huge suitcases. Was I just noticing these things today or is the 6th February "Bring Your Biggest Bag To Work Day"? I am quite proud of myself because I was not being scared of anyone because of the colour of their skin, only because of the size of their luggage. To me everyone could be a suicide bomber and I think there is something beautiful in that universal mistrust that transcends mere racism.
On this occasion I was most scared of a tall Aryan man to my right. Perhaps he was a Nazi, upset that the ethnic community has shown itself to be best at blowing itself up and wanting to prove that the Master Race could be just as stupidly destructive (no real need, I think the Germans proved this last century - check your history books for details) I had only two stops to go. Would I get out of the tube before the bomb went off. Every second counted.
There was an electrical buzz to my right and I jumped a mile, but I was still alive and quickly realised that my mobile phone calender reminder had just gone off in my pocket and was on vibrate. In case you were wondering it turned out that there were no bombs on the carriage or if they were they failed to detonate.
On my way home, depressed from my terrible bad luck and over £100 out of pocket I found a tatty copy of the Sun on the tube. There was an article about black box recordings from crashed planes which made even more depressing reading, especially one from a Russian plane where the pilot had had his kids up in the cock pit and (perhaps foolishly) allowed them to twist and turn some of the knobs. His son twisted one thing too far, sending the plane into a swirling dive to the ground killing everyone on board. It is tragic for so many reasons, partly because the last thing the pilot said was along the lines of "We're going to be all right". Aside from the tragedy it's a horrible, embarrassing blunder with unimaginably awful consequences, one you would hope a pilot and father wouldn't make and yet his pride and desire to show off in the nicest way overcame him.
It reminded me of the time when I was about six and my family were on holiday on the Isle of Arran and we were driving along the coast by a small cliff and my dad had me sat on his knee and asked me if I wanted to steer. Being young I thought that you drove a car by moving the steering wheel back and forth briskly and although I am sure my dad was always in control the car did veer off to the side. The consequences were never going to be as bad as if I had been flying a plane full of people, but in my memory at least we got close to the cliff edge and this bit of fun could have turned into disaster. The lesson here is don't let small children operate fast moving forms of transport without at least giving them a couple of lessons beforehand.
These chilling stories (well not the one about me driving the car which I am sure I have exaggerated) got me into a more paranoid and frightened state and I expected another night of dreams full of darkness and dust, but I slept like a baby. Luckily the baby I was like was not at the controls of a intercity train. Babies are even worse at driving things, due in part to their tendancy to fall asleep without a moment's notice.
Hopefully tomorrow I will be able to kid myself that life is not so bleak.
