A Smug Sense of Entitlement

Two dreadful young women on the Hammersmith and Central Line tube driving everyone insane with their inane prattle. Well, one prattled while the other nodded sheepishly along. They boarded the train and sat on either side of a middle-aged Afro-Caribbean man. They leant forward so that they could speak to each other, across him, which they commenced to do, very loudly, obviously for the benefit of us mere plebs in the carriage. The bigger of the two bleated,
  "So, ya, I just realised that I had literally no energy for, like, three weeks. Felt really lethargic."
  "Oh, wow."
  "Ya, it was pretty bad actually. Went to work, but couldn't get any enthusiasm up about it. So work probably suffered."
  "Oh, wow."
  "So I started going to yoga on Tuesday nights, which is, like, amazing You just feel so much energy, like, coursing through you afterwards. And then I started doing Pilates with Jinny and Raquel, which is marvellous, actually. You really should try it.  Honestly, it'll make a totally new woman of you. Why don't you pop in next week when the three of us are there? Jinny says it has helped her no end with that tummy of hers. And eating beetroot and raisins I think helped."
  "OK."
  "Oh, no, you really must!"
  At this point the Afro-Caribbean man interrupted the big lethargic one and said,   "Would you like to swap seats?" She shook her tousled mane, with a smile, and said, "Oh, no, that's ok, as long as you don't mind us talking across you?" She gave a little laugh, as if expecting him to go along with the situation. But he had a different scenario in mind.
  "Well I do, actually", replied the man, "I'm really fed up with it. It's actually very rude and very, very, VERY boring." And with that he stood up and ushered the lethargic girl into his seat. She reluctantly stood up, a frown creasing her bovine face; she was clearly not used to being told what to do. She then sat next to her friend, rolling her eyes dramatically at the nerve of the man.
  "Yes, well, as I was SAYing ... Jinny's tummy is tight as a drum now, and we ALL come out feeling quite MARVELLOUS, like our interiors have had a JOLLY good shake up. Oh, SAY you will come next time?"
   "All right, it might be fun. Mummy will never believe I would do anything so batty, but there you are, I'm full of surprises!"


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Bethnal Green Send Off

     A family shambles into the pub, all dressed in black. It comprises a set of obese twins, one of whom is the mother of a boy and a girl aged about eight and nine.       "My god", she says to the barman, "I need a fuckin' drink after the day I've 'ad." She orders for the entire entourage and they all sit around three tables, which they hastily drag together. The woman now spots me in the corner and she galumphs over on unsteady, knock-kneed legs, with a plaintive look across her pale, doughy face.     "'Scuse me luv, can I take summer dese chairs?" She gestures to the three empty seats around my table. I tell her she can. "Only, I cremated me muvver dis mornin'. " she says, apropos of nothing. I give her my condolences.       She seats her two children on tall stools at the bar. Another family member arrives with two bags of McDonald's food. He places these in front of the kids, who eagerly dig in. The adults sit ad...
Read more

Clomping Through the NPG

   Three gangly, teenage American girls spread out and clomped around the wooden floors of the National Portrait Gallery in their chunky boot heels, loudly calling out to each other about the portraits in the Elizabethan rooms.     "Lookit this guy! He's so cool! Look at his beard. So hipster. I LOVE it!"     "Oh wow! This woman is, like, ancient. Check out that bling!"     "He's, like, a king or some shit! Lookit his hat! " I sought to escape them by slipping into another room, but they followed me in. This room contained a group of young schoolchildren who were sitting on the floor quietly listening to a lady Gallery guide explain to them the beautiful portrait of Henry IV. The three girls seemed completely oblivious to this, and they edged around the room still shouting out their observations on the people in the paintings.     "Gahd! that looks like that dude in that movie, you know who I mean?" ...
Read more

The Old Marquis

     I found myself at the French House in Dean Street, Soho, where I sat at the bar and had a number of glasses of the house lager. I eavesdropped on the conversations.      A young man in his late twenties asked his friend, a woman about thirty, how she was.      "Oh, alright, I suppose," she replied, "except for having to shove suppositories up my father's arse for the last ten days."       Two old gents were seated on the stools under the window. They were red-faced, very merry, and very loud.             "And, of course, when I was sixteen," one said, "I was taken under the wing of the old Marquis, and I went out to live on his estate. He taught me a great deal about society, and food, and wine, and what to wear to table, and that sort of thing. All kinds of things, really. It was the perfect education for a young chap, in all sorts of ways ... And, of course...
Read more