Ranting. Because I can.

The human race is doomed. Not only does a half-witted corporate slave lead the free world (whever that is), we're turning into blinkered, selfish automatons. It doesn't matter, does it? No-one's going to die if your train gets delayed by 10 minutes on the way into London Bridge, and you're a bit late for your meeting. The earth won't self-destruct if you don't force yourself into the next tube carriage, or shove that little old lady out of the way to get down the stairs a nano-second quicker.
From the way everyone was acting this morning, you'd think that getting to work that little bit quicker was a matter of life and death. And I had to listen to these two women, spouting absolute nonsense about their daily and VERY boring journeys to work, and details of how they are frequently disrupted, for twenty minutes. I thought (hoped) they might actually bore themselves to death, but no.

I like people who aren't afraid to talk to you, which is good, because they're invariably nuts and I seem to attract nutters. The last person who engaged me in friendly conversation was a large bearded man on the tube, with a laugh like sandpaper, who told me all about how he was off to collect his final installment from twenty grand's worth of backpay owed to him for years by his old company. He picked me because I had a briefcase, and the girl who'd just got his pay sorted had a briefcase too. I like that. We had a nice little chat on the escalators. Then there was the singing Irishman dressed completely in green, who reassured me that he hadn't had a drop for thirty years. They both made me feel like a human being. Which is nice. But this morning I felt like a faceless robot, trapped in an anthill. Can we please stop being drones? What are we so afraid of?

I say all this today, but tomorrow I'll probably be huffing away with the best of them, and stepping on as many pregnant women as I can find. C'est la vie.