Waiting for the bus.

A couple of strange experiences I've had this week, both of them about waiting for a bus. You go weeks without any, and then two come at once, I know, I know, but this is true!

On Wednesday night, I was waiting for a bus not far from my home, when I was joined by a burly man, shaven-headed, skinhead gear, several teeth missing. I was a bit nervous. He struck up a conversation. Apparently, he had just been discharged from a clinic where he had weaned himself off heroin. He was staying with his father for a couple of days. He was very honest in admitting that he had cost his father enormous amounts of money, and that he had been in prison, used to have a £200 a day habit, but was on his way to a resort on the South coast where he could stop drinking. He was going down into town on his last ever drinking binge. I wished him well; he was a nice guy, and I warmed to him.

Tonight, I was at a bus stop in Richmond (outside the station at 6.30) when somebody poked me in the back. I turned round to see a man with long black hair and wild eyes.

He asked whether he could ask me a question. I said yes, a bit worried by his aggressive stance; I hadn't meant to push in, or offend anybody, but he looked a bit emotional. He was also missing a front tooth.

"If you had worked for MI5 for 6 years, and you'd saved this country from the IRA seven times, would you be angry if they refused to pay you your wages?!" he was visibly trembling, staring at me, and raising his fist, pressing his face closer and closer. I gabbled that I, too, would be distressed by this. He burst into tears, apologised for being emotional and was still trembling with anger. He actually apologised if he was scaring me, but I instinctively said goodbye and scarpered to the next bus stop.

Like I said, you go months without a nutter coming along, and then two come along at once. I wish them both well, though.