Enforced Writer's block

This morning I suffered from ‘enforced writer’s block’. This is a new one and just as effective as the natural kind.


I had ideas this morning, namely to discuss the Comedy show that Jo and I went to watch at the weekend with Milton Jones. I’ll write that up later.

What stumped me this morning?

What could possibly come between a man and his laptop?

Smell.

I was stumped by smell.

Retched, stale body odour to be precise.

I got on the train and sat myself down, happy that I was in a comfy seat all by myself. I may have even patted myself firmly on the back, pleased with myself for not having to share with a stranger.

I learned a lesson.

From now on I will be deliberately sitting next to someone – someone that I choose. I will bring the seat partner selection under my control. This may upset people a little, especially if they can see empty seats elsewhere and consider my breech of commuter protocol unacceptable, but tough. They can put up with sitting next to Mr. Stinky instead of me.

I had a quick read of the paper and then was just about to start writing when we pulled into Reading. The train filled.

Suddenly there was a voice that came out of nowhere downwind. The voice wanted to know if the seat was taken. Had the wind direction been in my favour I could have prepared, maybe inserted my leg into my emergency fake plaster cast or weirdo deterrent as I call it.

Sadly the wind was against me and without looking up I indicated that my imaginary disabled friend was not travelling with me today and in fact the seat was free.

And then it hit me.

The smell followed him into his seat and set about smacking my nose.

I couldn’t concentrate, I could barely see through watering eyes. I could not think about anything else. My imagination was blocked.

Forcibly blocked.

There was no way I could write, I could barely think.

All I could do was sit with my eyes closed and try not to breath for the 30 minute train ride of aroma-joy.

Released from the train I hit the underground and noted with dismay the way that people tried to avoid me. Something about my pale complexion and red eyes was scaring them and also the smell had permeated my clothes like cigarettes in an Italian restaurant.

I was a very popular boy indeed.

Now I am aware that sometimes in the evenings on the way home I’m probably a bit whiffy myself, but come on – first thing in the morning?

So all thoughts of my intended blog post were lost, and instead I’ve wasted my lunch hour writing this – and I do hate wasting food time!

Never mind – lesson learned, I shall be making some unsuspecting (but probably pretty) commuter, very unhappy and slightly uncomfortable tonight. If people are going to be complaining about having to sit next to some big smelly sweaty man, then I’d much prefer to be the only person in the carriage that doesn’t notice thank you very much!