It's that time of year. Movember. I am busily growing a 'tache all in support of prostate cancer...not that I support it. In show of solidarity with the sufferers. That sounds better.The scary thing is I am actually quite enjoying the 'tache.
I can fool myself that I am looking like Brad Pitt in Inglorious Basterds...of course the only difference is that I don't wear any 1940's army uniforms. That's the only difference. Honest.
I have also experienced a feeling I have not had to feel since I left the sunny shores of England. Hostility towards old people on public transport. WHY do they clog up the arteries of the morning rush hour? What have they got to do? Nothing. There are differences though. In England they are fat and smell of piss and Everton toffees, over here they look like one of those mummies that has been encased in ice for three thousand years. Except they haven't. They've been sitting in this bus seat.
And queuing. No one queues here. As an Englishman I still can't get used to this. People rush and scrum for the bus. But it's not as if they're going to be able to sit down, as they shove and squeeze to get onto something that looks like the cast off from a set of Indiana Jones (mummies complete of course) they only have the privilege of squeezing up close to one another like sardines.
Oh well, at least everyone's friendly.
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