Dear Man on the 16.53 train from King's Cross to Letchworth, a train lots of people had to board as so many others had been cancelled or delayed due to overhead problems, who wouldn't move down in the aisle, forcing loads of passengers to be squashed by the doors like some ill-treated cattle, who STILL wouldn't move when you were verbally (and politely, initially, might I add) requested to do so by three people including myself, and finally oh-so-graciously allowed a few people to squeeze past you as you didn't want to lose your precious place, which you seemed to be in love with for some reason which will leave my mind boggled until my dying day, as it was a square of grubby carpet you were standing on rather than a fucking throne, and who then forced my spine to contort in a way it is not meant to do as you barged past me and everyone else to get off at Potters Bar,

YOU, SIR, ARE A FUCKING CUNT.

***

Ah, that was therapeutic.

My trial I am in with The Barrister is getting very exciting, so it's even worth being in there with him, just to be part of it. I have felt a bit awkward since he gave me his card on Friday and sadly my body language must have given me away as he caught up with me at lunch today and said he was sorry if he's embarrassed me but did he leave things there? Oh no.

He then said I should 'never change my demeanour' and hoped I would reconsider and go for a drink with him one day because I am 'a breath of fresh air' in court. Really, really I'm not. I sit there typing away with what we've affectionally dubbed in the office as 'Steno face' - the look of concentration when you're struggling with something or other (which for me is often), grin at inopportune moments and my bow to whichever judge I happen to be sitting with could definitely do with some improvement.

It is making life more interesting at the moment though. Unfortunately I have to cut and run as I want to have a shower and wash my hair before Supersize vs Superskinny comes on. Tuesday nights are such a lark.

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