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@pj_(pj)
i took my bike on a fairly busy train to malvern, around 3.30 on a friday. i positioned it as far out of the way in the 'vestibule' as i could.
some 'next' business man got on with a big briefcase made of iron, but clad in leather, and proceeded to sort of savage my bike in an attempt to get past, moaning and cursing. i saw him, but was disbelieving. eventually i snapped out of my trance, and leapt up and to try and move it but he just clouted it out the way, marking the top tube.
on this rare occasion i gave him a piece of my mind, in front of many startled passengers. i think i snapped because i saved for two and a half years to buy this particular bike. the conversation went pretty much thus:
"that's my bike" (calm)
"it was in my way"
"i could have moved it very easily, and was about to, and it wasn't in your way' (less calm)
'yes it was, and i was in a hurry, it shouldn't be here'
'well, it should be here, because the guard told me to put it here, and it has its won special ticket. and the next time you want violently rape someone's bicycle with your briefcase of death just because you're in a hurry then give me call, in the meantime, don't even think about touching it again or i'll do the same thing to you that you just did to my toptube' (extremely pissed off).
the lady who i had been conversing freely with up untiil that point agreed with my comments. apparently she was a 400 metre olympic medallist in the 1960s. she sided with the 'athlete' (me) over the 'corpulent fat cunt' (bike raper).
here ends the narrative.