Dance like nobody’s watching…

4 12 2014

There are times when we all just want to let our hair down, ‘forget’ the world and go crazy.

Laugh like a maniac.

Cry like it’s the end of the world.

Shout out loud to release the demons.

But we don’t.

We refrain.

Become reserved.

Bottle it up.

Sometimes it just takes watching a child to remember, that at times, we take ourselves too seriously and care too much about what other people think.

That inner child that we all have needs to surface now and again.

To help us laugh, cry and shout out loud.

To release.

I’m fast learning that time is one of the most precious commodities I can never own.

I don’t want it to pass me by too quickly.

So I’m going to release my inner child, follow Joshie’s example and dance like nobody’s watching.

Just don’t come running to me if you end up in a padded cell.


Parking on a hard shoulder…

3 12 2014

Believe it or not, my shoulder is not a resting place for bags.

A lot of people on the 8am train to St Pancras, however, seem to disagree.

I’ve moaned before how my train can get quite busy.

But fortunately for me, there is nearly always a seat.

It tends to be an aisle seat.

So when the train gets busy people queue up along the aisle.

When the Thameslink trains where first constructed back in 1672, people were a lot slimmer in build and had smaller bottoms.

That can only explain the width of the seats.

By the time either two big bottoms or two people with a shoulder build of normal standards sit next to each other, one invariably spills onto the third seat leaving less space to sit down.

And in turn, you guessed it, my shoulder sticks out into the aisle.

So when people get onto the train with bags on their backs or handbags on their arms, apparently my shoulder becomes a convenient place for them to rest their load.

Stop it.

I’ve had enough.

I’m seriously contemplating putting strong magnets onto my shoulder to damage anything electronic in the bags.

Or perhaps Mad Max style metal spiked shoulder pads that would rip apart any unsuspecting bag at the slightest wriggle from me.

Or I’ll become a pirate (work it out).

These people also have the audacity to give me evils when I try to shrug the bag off my shoulder!

(Ok, maybe I should ask nicely next time.)

All this being said, it gets worse when it’s someone’s arse sat on my shoulder.

And when a man is leaning on me with his *ahem* personal bag, maybe I should give him a hard shoulder.