Something unusual happened to me today.
This has nothing to do with vegetable growing, so not germane to this blog. But I feel the need to share.
I was on the London Underground at about 7am. A pleasant looking blond young man boarded our carriage. He wore only a cotton t-shirt (surprising, given the freezing weather today), but in all other respects he looked like a personable chap. He had the agreeably muscled, well-groomed look of an urban homosexual who takes care of himself.
It quickly became obvious that he was drunk. Very drunk.
He mumbled and moaned, uttered semi-coherent unfinished sentences, tried to engage his fellow travellers in disjointed conversation and generally made a vague but unthreatening nuisance of himself. So far, so banal. This is London. Drunk clubbers on early morning trains are not unusual.
What followed next, however, was rather unusual: the luckless young man shat himself. In full view. Lavishly.
It was really a most arresting sight. A brown stain spread sideways from the backside of his jeans into the seat and down his legs. Liquid shit began to drip out of the bottom of one trouser leg. At the same time, a ghastly and noisome aroma radiated outward, quickly rendering the atmosphere unbearable.
The young man seemed oblivious to all this. Not so the other four occupants of the carriage, who swapped silent and oh-so-British glances of wild surmise. Oddly, given what we were all witnessing, this was the most extraordinary part of the drama – the exquisite intensity of a look between strangers that expresses an eloquence of meaning ten thousand words could never achieve.
I got off at the next stop and moved to a neighbouring carriage. That’s an act nobody can follow.