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Backstop
I can't let it go. Never. Even off the bike. On the train to a bbq in Godalming on Saturday I had words with a young lady sitting behind playing loud music in the quiet zone and a young lad sitting opposite who'd made himself comfy by placing his scruffy trainers up on the seat next to me. Both grunted but complied. My wife shrunk and cringed and wanted to leave. Then afterwards I overheard her telling friends at the barbie how I'd been so good about it all. This morning i had words with a BMW motorcyclist in the bike box in Regents Park. Not good enough my friend. Show some fucking respect. Don't wait until a tower burns down before getting all neighbourly and selfless. Just fucking do it. Rant over.