I travel to and from work every single day on the tube. Yesterday, however, during some kind of failure on the eastbound Central Line, one person (who really should know better) asked me if I always took the bus from Charing Cross to White City.
If I took the bus I don’t think I’d ever arrive at work, to be honest. I might as well work from home if I had to take the bus to and from work. It is quite a long way.
Mind you, yesterday afternoon (yes, I know it’s old news) I did experience two things which surprised me.
The first is something I can’t talk about. One key piece of evidence is currently in the process of being corroborated. It wouldn’t be particularly good to reveal that at this point in time.
The second thing took a good 24 hours to sink in.
As the 94 bus stood at one of many stops on Oxford Street I observed one tall man dressed in a white billowy shirt and some kind of canvassy-type trousers walk down the street. Something about him made him look unusual. Was it his alabaster skin ? Or maybe the strangely dark stubble across his face? Or was it the unmistakable sight of a bra strap underneath his unbuttoned shirt?
I’ll confess there was a moment when I thought, “I don’t believe I’m seeing this. Is that man for real?”
I watched him stop outside the window of a shop selling ladies underwear. Then I saw him fiddle with a pinky, shimmery garment poking out from under that strange looking shirt as he looked at the window display.
I felt a mixture of emotions, I’ll confess. There was a moment of total disbelief when I clapped eyes on him. There was a moment when I probably could have said out loud “you’re joking”. And yet the overriding feeling I have is something which would almost certainly would have propelled me to get up from my seat, leave the bus, leap across the pavement and give him a hug.
I don’t believe for a moment that trying out those feelings can be easy. Confronting them considerably more difficult and telling others about them an absolute nightmare.