Too much information
Yesterday on the train, the driver introduced himself to us by name. I have never come across this before, although by the time I arrived in West Hampstead, I'd already forgotten what it was (Ralph? Raymond?). Today, I perform my filthiest look, and it still isn’t nearly filthy enough to get the girl standing next to me to turn her iPod down (a similarly noisy male, on the other hand, I am much too chicken shit to even glance towards). Between filthy looks, I look instead at someone's Daily Mail, which reveals that P&O has been sold to “The Arabs”. Have I missed something here? The Arabs? Are they, like, a band? Maybe I’m being too touchy here. But I feel much the same way when football commentators talk about The Greeks instead of Greece. Is it just me, or do I detect a little colonial hauteur in such turns of phrase? But I digress. The next station is King’s Cross. Change here for a blow job and a gram of smack.