someone to watch over me
The last few days have been pretty great. Mostly uneventful, barr for a rather amusing incident on Sunday night on the way home from church.
It was about 9.30pm and I hopped off the No 14 bus on Putney Bridge and made a quick call to Ian. He was nearby, so I jumped onto another bus (bit lazy) to take me down the road. As I was rummaging through my bag for my house keys, my finger caught on my razor blade (I had spent the night at Bron’s) and sliced through my skin. I’m a softie at the best of times, but a cut is one thing; a cut on my finger causes me to pale instantly.
By the time I reached Ian I was in a state of semi-consciousness and the world was rapidly disappearing between stars. He swiftly rushed to my aid and I could see he was caringly fighting the urge to show his amusement at my over-reaction to the small abrasion.
The entertainment didn’t stop there. I was in no fit state to see myself home so Ian accompanied me on the bus. Halfway home, an argument over a £1.50 bus fare arose between the driver and one of three youths who boarded the bus. Now, not only was I faint, but scared too and expectedly unhappy when the driver turned off the engine and called the authorities to report the nasty little delinquent. The boy, subsequently, punched the drivers window and stormed off the bus in a state of rage.
I love London, but it is home to all types and many of them have been tainted by the struggles that life in this city throws at you. I happen to live near the dodgy part of town that is home to many aforementioned individuals.
It’s times like that I’m thankful that Ian and I are no strangers to impromptu meetings. I shudder to think what may have happened, but it’s just another little reminder that there’s someone looking out for me 24/7.
My finger is fine, by the way.
It was about 9.30pm and I hopped off the No 14 bus on Putney Bridge and made a quick call to Ian. He was nearby, so I jumped onto another bus (bit lazy) to take me down the road. As I was rummaging through my bag for my house keys, my finger caught on my razor blade (I had spent the night at Bron’s) and sliced through my skin. I’m a softie at the best of times, but a cut is one thing; a cut on my finger causes me to pale instantly.
By the time I reached Ian I was in a state of semi-consciousness and the world was rapidly disappearing between stars. He swiftly rushed to my aid and I could see he was caringly fighting the urge to show his amusement at my over-reaction to the small abrasion.
The entertainment didn’t stop there. I was in no fit state to see myself home so Ian accompanied me on the bus. Halfway home, an argument over a £1.50 bus fare arose between the driver and one of three youths who boarded the bus. Now, not only was I faint, but scared too and expectedly unhappy when the driver turned off the engine and called the authorities to report the nasty little delinquent. The boy, subsequently, punched the drivers window and stormed off the bus in a state of rage.
I love London, but it is home to all types and many of them have been tainted by the struggles that life in this city throws at you. I happen to live near the dodgy part of town that is home to many aforementioned individuals.
It’s times like that I’m thankful that Ian and I are no strangers to impromptu meetings. I shudder to think what may have happened, but it’s just another little reminder that there’s someone looking out for me 24/7.
My finger is fine, by the way.
posted by foxy_roxtar at 4:46 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home