Clip clop clip clop clip clop CLIP CLOP CLIP CLOP! That’s the sound of a business man running, getting closer behind me.
I move to the side as the puffing blur of black polyester whizzes by. His train has just pulled in and he’s still got 50 metres and a bridge (complete with up and down stairs) to navigate. Other people are similarly moving left and right like traffic to an ambulance in order to allow Insain Bolt here the chance to miss his train in spectacular fashion.
This should be interesting.
He makes it to the platform and disappears from view behind the train. Did he make it? Place your bets, place your bets!
The train pulls out and…and…he’s still stood there. Teased by the train standing in the station when he gets there but the doors were locked and the guard looks on all powerful and officious. Been there. Gutted. Ha ha.
I, like many others overtaken by this optimistically deluded Forrest Gump, walk past him with that ‘bet you’re glad you ran now eh?’ look on our faces as he desperately tries to style out his heavy panting. He’s leaning casually against the fence, texting with one hand trying to mask his overwhelming need to drain the town of oxygen by ‘gently’ breathing through his nose. It’s like trying to quickly down a pint through a straw. If it were me I’d be on all fours, wheezing and being dramatic.
I’m just saying.
Ready thyself for my prepared smirk….