The Number 12

I went out to Surefire at Corsica Studios tonight with Leftwing Idiot, Poppy and some other friends. After a great night of heavy bass we got the number 12 bus home. Anyone who uses this bus regularly will know that whether it’s 4pm or 4am, it has a distinctly edgy vibe.

Sometimes the atmosphere feels generally good humoured as it was tonight, but at other times it can be aggy and tense. Either way, something’s always going on and you get the feeling it could all kick off at any second.

My tics contribute to this atmosphere, often attracting attention and comments. Tonight’s contributions were from two men in different parts of the night bus.

The first was an Aussie who moved seats to let Leftwing Idiot sit next to me and support me. He was friendly, chatty and drunk. During our conversation he kept accidentally saying, “Biscuit” instead of what he’d planned to say.

The second man was sitting nearby with his wife. He made a number of comments and suggestions, which got more and more confusing and contradictory:

“You have ‘T-rets’. I know what it is, you can’t help it.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“You shouldn’t do it anymore.”
“Just stop thinking about biscuits.”

Each time he said something his wife squeezed his arm and told him to be quiet. She seemed to be doing it a little more forcefully each time.

The man’s tone was friendly, even if his words were slightly slurred. He didn’t seem too bothered by my swearing but he got surprisingly agitated when I wished everybody on the bus a Happy Christmas.

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