Picture the scene…

I’m sat on the end seat by the door on the Vicky Blue, steaming towards Brixton. The train pulls into Victoria station and like all others I share the carriage with, my eyes are fixed to my phone, rows of heads buried in books (or a Kindles these days –  I ask, what is wrong with a book? They still work: Pages, check. Words, check. Cover, half check as sometimes missing or damaged but not essential for reading pleasure, check. (Kindle, I rue the day of your conception.  Amazon, a curse be in both your houses.) Of course not forgetting those looking very intently at the Evening Standard or any of the number of free media  paraphernalia that is thrust in our direction at every opportunity. Arhh, the social etiquette of the underground.

So a guy gets on with what looks like a broken arm, and here’s where the issue arises.

There are no more seats available:

Do I…

a) ignore the fact he has what looks like a broken arm and assume he’s fine?
b) ignore the fact he has what looks like a broken arm and feel terribly guilty that I haven’t asked if he’s okay standing?
c) ignore the fact he has what looks like a broken arm & feel mortified when the train jerks suddenly and he goes hurtling down the centre of the carriage landing face down in another man’s lap?
d) do not ignore the fact that he has what looks like a broken arm and offer my seat and feel utterly humiliated when he declines and everybody in the carriage joins him in giving me that, {head shaking} “tut tut, are you stupid? It’s a broken arm!” look?
e) hope that c happens so I can join the rest of the carriage in doing our best impression of a pack of hyenas?


Chewing over my predicament. Heart wrenched, “what do you do in this situation?” (Answers on a postcard.)

There I was mulling over my answer, beads of sweat running down my forehead and as the train pulled into Green Park, I had made my decision. The train came to a stop. I looked up at the casted commuter only to watch him exit.


Here it Begins…

Let’s talk about stuff, baby!
Let’s talk about you & me
Let’s talk about all the good things and the bad thing that may be.
(Come on, sing it with me)
Let’s talk about stuff!

“Do you come here often?” Well I should hope so because here we find ourselves, or at least this is where I find myself. It’s been a long time coming, incubating in my literally womb, It’s time to share the lunacy and often insightful, randomness that populates my mind most of the time.

Never spiteful or malicious but an honest opinion about the mechanics and imaginations of a situation according to moi. How much more sophistika would that sound if I said; “according to the Dr” or better yet, “unwrapping social origami according to the Professor.” Fail! However I do have prophetic gifting so perhaps I’ll dub myself, “Proctor”. Still not as good as Dr Phil.

Rest assured that Proc or not, I will be mind-dumping and unravelling all manner of fun thing in this space, so do come again soon.

Finally,  hello and welcome to… You me Oliie & the Tracks.