I recently met a man whose behaviour can only really be described as that of a naughty little boy. You’re probably conjuring up an image of someone a touch backward but this wasn’t the case at all. He was just like a naughty schoolboy. He must have been over fifty. Maybe he’d been serious all his life and decided 216
to try something else. I’d tell you the conversation we had but he was so busy laughing I couldn’t make sense of a word of it. Correction, he did start talking about ‘The Great Train Robbery’ but where it went from there is anyone’s guess. Well, the other people stood around who spoke the same language as him probably got the gist.
I’m not so fucking angry any more. I don’t want to be you know. It’s not pleasurable. I guess I should feel a little naughty myself. People will say I ran away. Yet how can you run away from somewhere you don’t consider home? Running away sounds like giving something up. But I haven’t given anything up. That’s why I’m here now. If I’d given something up, the worst thing that could be would have been my desire to leave.
Have you ever fallen over on a bus? Don’t. You look ridiculous. Especially when the whole falling event cannot be controlled in a sensible manner.