Wednesday, November 24, 2004

The Ruislip Ripper

It's eight thirty in the morning. My train draws in (yes, on time, credit where it is due). A group of exuberant schoolkids run out. I step in. The carriage is full of torn and ripped up shreds of newspapers and crisp packets.

Now this train cannot have been in service for that long today, (and I assume it was cleaned last night) yet already it is strewn with litter.

So is there a mysterious maniac deriving strange thrills from the evisceration of newsprint? Or are today's kids a highly anti-social and moronic bunch who should be out earning a living rather than wasting their time doing media studies? Are there any other possibilities? Perhaps, but nothing comes to mind right now.

Time for a sandwich, methinks, as it is after 1pm and this has been an exciting morning, involving the purchase over the internet of a television/vcr/dvd for the office.

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