The other day when I got home it was pouring with rain as I looked out of the window.
A big man in a suit jacket, jeans and greasy hair was walking like fury in the middle of the road, soaking wet and swigging a can of Carling. The rain didn’t seem to bother him, it was as if he was on a mission to find the man who robbed his Grandma of her life savings, probably a Post Office account.
He flung the can of lager aside as he walked up the garden path of the squat opposite, in his other hand was a polished brass bell. I saw him at 7.30 the next morning in the same clothes, walking in the opposite direction in the middle of the road, this time drinking a can of Holsten Pils, sugar turns to alcohol.
This morning outside our office there was a man walking in the road, shouting to himself about the impending election – Thatcher. Blair. The 80s. I wanted to stop and listen to him as his mad ranting seemed entirely reasonable, if he was actually talking to someone else he’d probably pass as one of those thirty something socialist worker types – Genuine. Friendly. Rich parents.
Is the election driving everyone mad with boredom?