The Scar

A Wee Bit Funny

In the dash to squeeze myself onto an over-populated train with an under population of seats, I pushed passed the chuggers and freebie paper boys and nodded to the glinting Shard (Europe’s tallest office building). Chasing the minutes sprinting ahead of me I exercised the cadence in my calves springing up the stairs into the station. Taxis scurried like beetles and buses weaved their bendy centipede forms through the traffic. Outside the station sat an automated public lavatory. Spending a penny these days seems to set you back 50p, despite high levels of quantitative easing inflation seem to remain high for this public convenience. The jaws of this rotund unit beeped open with their emergency warning signifying the occupant’s time up and to the horror of the seated young boy (couldn’t be more than seven years of age) and his accompanying mother he was now in public view in full décolletage.

Panic struck, he yelled to his waiting family to fix the problem in the language of a tourist. His mother battled to pull the hydraulic doors shut, his shouts grew more impassioned and desperate. His pants hugged his shoes, his father fumbled with change to decipher denominations, his brothers doubled over in laughter which was bound to mature into an angry childhood scar.

This pay and display unit had confirmed the suspicions of passing human traffic. These public conveniences possess the power to be highly inconvenient. Not to be trusted with one’s ablutions, my advice if you need to pay a visit in the capital, find a jolly nice hotel. And for the horror struck boy...well just like my childhood seated encounter with an ants nest, which literally translated as ants in my pants, it’s character building.