THE APPLESHADE FILES
File Seven
"WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! WeaaaaaaaAAHHHHHH!"
A London bus, packed with commuters, work-weary and homebound.
"WeeeeeeeeeearghhhhhhhhhhahhhhhhhhhaAAAAHHHH!"
Packed with honest everyday London folk, tired and tetchy.
"WaaaaaaaaaaaaagaaaaaagaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhHHH!"
Packed with the working class, the middle class, all united in their use of the greatest public transport system in the world after a hard days' work.
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
And one woman with three children.
"Shush darlin'... there there..." We won't hold it against her, but she claims family benefit because she's unemployed.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"
"Joel, leave that mans hat alone.. no... Joel! I told you spitting is disgusting." We won't hold it against her, but she can't get a job because she learned nothing at school.
"WeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHH!!"
"Courtney, stop picking your nose." We won't hold it against her, but she was pregnant at fourteen and had to drop out of classes.
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"
"Its okay, we'll be home soon..." We won't hold it against her, but she doesn't even know that the father of her first child who she hasn't seen or heard of since she became pregnant, is sitting upstairs, at the back, reading the FT.
The bus stops to cram a couple more people onboard. There is the standard jostling about as it pulls slowly away again, bulging with passengers. The two newly-boarded persons push their way to the bottom of the stairwell.
Mr Appleshade. And the Reservoir Frog.
They observe the weariness. They espy the annoyance. They hear the eardrum-shattering wails of the small snotty-nosed child. They notice the harrassed mother-of-three desperately trying to control her children, trying to ignore the stares of her fellow passengers as they glare at her with malice, patronising shakes of heads and mutterings beneath breaths aplenty.
Mr Appleshade looks at Mr Frog.
Mr Frog looks at Mr Appleshade.
Mr Appleshade heads upstairs.
"Room for one more upstairs, Driver." Shouts Mr Frog.
There is a commotion from above. A scream. Mr Frog observes through the rear window a pin-striped body plummeting to the road, to be neatly crushed by the bus behind. Mr Appleshade returns.
"Wait half an hour for one, Mr Frog..."
"...then two come along at once, Mr Appleshade."
"Exactly, sir."
"Our stop, driver."
Understanding is a wonderful thing.
