But I'm about to share something really disgusting with you, dear reader.
This evening I came home from work on a later train than usual, because I'd stayed behind at the office for a while to make up for a doctor's appointment in the morning*. I was in my normal commuting trance, listening to my music (Björk - which makes for a rather floaty and ethereal commute) and not really thinking anything. As always I was watching people; people talking, thinking, just generally being people and therefore fascinating. There was a man in his 50s-ish standing in front of me, standing facing away from me, but at an angle, so I could see his face. He was reading a newspaper and occasionally checking his watch. Brown coat. Shirt and tie. Briefcase. A generic London office gent.
He had one of those funny little ticks, you know, like how people play with their hair or fiddle with their keys when they're concentrating on something. What he was doing was sort of like that - with one hand he was holding his paper, you see, but with the other I noticed that he was, er, jiggling (boinging?) a big, gelatinous polyp thingy on his neck with his index finger. For a few seconds I just stared at it, transfixed. He'd flick it with his finger and it'd wibble about for a few moments, all floopy and quivering. Then he'd do it again.
He turned round and looked at me just after I noticed this, so I'm guessing that the choked gagging noise I made whilst trying not to be sick wasn't audible just to me.
Very sorry for spoiling your day like that, but I had to tell it to someone, and none of you can be sick on me when I do.
you know what is cool though? An overspeeding wind turbine.
*didn't have to, I just, er, did. odd that.