In my time as a commuter I’ve grown to dislike certain types of people.  

For those of you who have read most of my previous blog entries will know this to be true.    

There is, however, a type of commuter who makes me as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs; particularly when I’m walking behind them.  

The arm swingers.    

These are almost always (although not exclusive to) women.

I’m not being sexist here; I’m simply making an observation. In much the same way I could observe that a majority of the world’s comedians are almost always men and a majority of these comedians’ suffering (and material) is almost always women. See…not sexist.  

Anyway, allow me describe an arm swinger.  

These fuckers, whilst walking, tend to swing their arms back and forth in a manner synonymous with the Queen’s guard. However, unlike the Queen’s guard, they also tend to swing their arms out at a 45 degree angle which only serves to take out small children, midgets and my balls.  

A bit like the walk adopted by overly camp cabin crew strutting through an airport terminal.  

Seriously. These people are the testicles’ natural enemy and need to be stopped (arm swingers, not camp cabin crew as I hear the latter can be incredibly considerate).

It’s at its worst when the arm swinger has a bag on one of her shoulders (yes, ‘her’). It somehow forces the unladen arm up to an almost horizontal position in which she is practically clotheslining my sack.

Is she somehow hoping to smash the squidgy softness of my gonads, hoping for the inevitable curt and high pitched whimper?   Surely they must realise that mothers are walking past them looking around wondering where their kids are. If these sadistic Sallys turned around they’d see the trail of kiddie carnage and full grown men groaning, writhing and clutching their faces and groins respectively.  

I’ve tried to pass these women many a time and failed. It’s like trying to casually negoitiate spinning helicopter blades, or charity collectors in the street.