After a rare and tiring day in London, I’m finally on the
Tube, on my way home. All I want to do is stare into space but a large woman quickly invades it. She's large and standing in the corner of the carriage and my staring space is not all she’s invading.
She’s in her twenties and is reading Stylist. She’s holding
the magazine, full of style and lifestyle advice, in her left hand. Her right
hand is mostly up her nose.
She attacks both nostrils. Right nostril. Left nostril. A
little deeper. Twist. Back to the right one. It’s a testament to the Stylist
editorial team that this reader has completely forgotten where she is.
She keeps rooting. Like a good Londoner, her snot is using
all available space. I’m disgusted yet transfixed. She stops, gives a final twist, and
performs an ultra-fast pull out. The offender has joined us, on the tip of her
finger. What now?
She’s still reading the fucking magazine but now rolls the
nasal mucus between her fingers. She rolls in a kittenish manner, playing with
her prey. Proud of it.
It’s between her thumb and her forefinger now. The rolling
action gathers pace. She’s almost ready to finish. Faster again. The thumb is
working its magic – rolling, rolling, rolling, almost there… and release. It’s
dropped on the floor, another ball of snot to join the grub and the filth.
She gives rubs her nose and turns the page.
