Nice word dash. Cut a dash. Mercy dash. Must dash. Dot dot dash and so on. Anyway, it’s a word which comes to mind often on the tube of an evening when otherwise slow-moving, sedentary ladies (and I’m sorry ladies but it is usually ladies) board the train and spot, several seats along, an empty space in which they could sit.
Suddenly Mary from accounts becomes Mary Peters in her medal winning prime and breaks into a sprint along the carriage, oblivious to the feet she treads on, the shopping she squashes, the grannies she grounds, to get to THE EMPTY SEAT. But it’s all OK: she gets to sit down ALL THE WAY HOME, and bugger what anyone thinks. Pregnant? Tough, should’ve run faster, or used more elbow. Old, then use a walking stick. Blind? Hello, yes, you, in the dark glasses, out of my way!
There are hundreds of them out there, the Fatima Whitbreads of the London Underground, dashing (got there in the end) the length of the carriage lest, shock horror, they spend 20 minutes STANDING UP. Were we all miners or cotton pickers I could understand such a pressing urge to relax but we send the whole day sitting on our arxes!
Next rant: How some people regularly mistake the tube carriage for the make up counter at Debenhams....
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