The Tooting-Streatham Line

I’m not exactly sure why there is always the need to make an adventure out of the trip home to Streatham from Tooting, but there always seem to be. Maybe it’s because my idea of an adventure is set to a lower standard than most people. And I like to think there’s some kind of magic, or excitement in as much as I can.

So yes, that’ll do me. A nice boring adventure. And tonight was nothing more than a man giving that bloke-ish ‘half smile nod’ of recognition – one sober man to another waiting for a bus amongst a crowd of kebab eating revellers. The other night it was giving a cigarette to a lad which seemed to make a night bus appear. That’s all it takes though. The bus driver drove like a lunatic. Comforting that some things remain the same…

This is good for me, because today I had a weird day. Basically I was being an arse. I took it out on myself. Then I took it out on Ace-Ten in a £20 freezeout this afternoon. My poker trouble always involves an Ace, and another card ten or lower. Must stop that. It happens from time to time. The imagination gets unleashed and the world goes weird. But I got hold of it again. I had the best help too. And finished it off with rice pudding.

So I’ll stick to the overblown adventures, which is really nothing more than paying attention to the world. And standing at a bus stop in Tooting is a far better adventure than anything with deserts, Nazis, missing gold and gunfights.

No ending again. I’m putting the brakes on now.