Tuesday afternoon something weird happened on my way to Chester; I’ve been in two minds over whether to record it here, since I don’t like dwelling on such matters. It is, however, very pertinent to this blog.

I was on the twenty, sitting quietly, on my way to Crewe. There were two boys at the back of the bus – they must have been about 16 or 17, in baseball caps and tracksuits. You know the type: scallies. I noticed them giggling at something, but thought little of it. The giggling, however, persisted. After a while the lady in front of theem turned around and told them to shut up. It was obvious then that I was the butt of their joke.

I am not used to being laughed at. Stared at, perhaps, but not laughed at. I suddenly felt angry. Am I comic? Am I so inferior to them that it inspires mirth? I wanted to throttle them; I wanted to tell them I have a degree, which is probably a damn sight more than they’re going to get (yes, I know I’m stereotyping here, but I was pissed off). That was the first time anyone has actually laughed at me, without me doing anything to cause it, and I did not like it one bit.