I was sat, minding my own business, on the tram this morning. I like the tram it is peaceful and my journeys are rarely crowded. On this particular occasion I had four seats to myself until a man got on at Soho Road. He strode purposefully towards me and confidently, and a little aggressively, threw his bag on the seat opposite. Let me describe the bag as it is the main character in this anti-climactic anecdote.
It was faun brown and at least two foot long and quite narrow. It had two straps to hold it. It is the sort of bag a bank robber might use. The sort of bag that is used to carry the guns in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.
With the bag on the seat the man turned his back on me and looked as if he was about to unzip it. I thought we were about to be robbed. Why else would he need a bag like that except to carry a gun and stash away a load of loot. He began to pull the zip, I knew what I would do. The second I glimpsed the weapon I would lunge for his head and smash it against the metal support at the back of the seat. I would then grab his semi conscious skull and smash it onto my knee then shove him to the floor and sit on his back.
The zip was open and I saw crumpled newspaper. Of course, he would have it wrapped up, of course. He began to rummage through the newspaper.
I was ready, poised. I was about to become a hero. The adrenalin was kicking in. I was exhilarated.
Then, the man got out a copy of The Guardian, zipped up the bag and slipped it underneath the seat, sat down and began to read about Paul Ince’s troubles at Blackburn.
I was disappointed.